DAN  VIS 
FOLKS 


ROWLKND  E.ROBINSQN 


Rotoianfc  <£. 


UNCLE  'LISHA'S  SHOP. 
SAM   LOVEL'S  CAMPS. 
OUT  OF  BONDAGE. 

IN   NEW   ENGLAND  FIELDS  AND  WOODS. 
DANVIS  FOLKS.     A  Novel. 
UNCLE  'LISHA'S  OUTING. 
A  DANVIS  PIONEER. 
SAM   LOVEL'S   BOY. 

VERMONT:     A    Study   of    Independence.       In 
American  Commonwealths  Series.    With  Map. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


DANVIS   FOLKS 


BY 


ROWLAND  E.  ROBINSON 

IUTHOR  OF  "VERMONT"  (IN  THE  AMERICAN  COMMONWEALTHS  SERI«S) 
"  UNCLE  LISHA'S  SHOP,"  AND  "  SAM  LOVEL'S  CAMPS" 


BOSTON   AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 
iMirrsi&e  preps  Cambridge 


Copyright,  1894, 
BY  ROWLAND  E.  ROBINSON. 

All  rights  reserved. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

"  DANVIS  FOLKS,"  with  the  exception  of  the  first  chapter, 
was  originally  published  in  "  Forest  and  Stream."  It  was 
written  with  less  purpose  of  telling  any  story  than  of  re 
cording  the  manners,  customs,  and  speech  in  vogue  fifty  or 
sixty  years  ago  in  certain  parts  of  New  England.  Manners 
have  changed,  many  customs  have  become  obsolete,  and 
though  the  dialect  is  yet  spoken  by  some  in  almost  its  ori 
ginal  quaintness,  abounding  in  odd  similes  and  figures  of 
speech,  it  is  passing  away  ;  so  that  one  may  look  forward  to 
the  time  when  a  Yankee  may  not  be  known  by  his  speech, 
unless  perhaps  he  shall  speak  a  little  better  English  than 
some  of  his  neighbors.  In  truth  he  uses  no  worse  now,  nor 
did  he  ever,  though  he  is  accused  of  it.  Such  as  it  was, 
some  may  be  glad  to  remember,  and  chiefly  for  them  these 

papers  have  been  written. 

R.  E.  R. 
FEBRISBURGH,  VT.,  August,  1894. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAFTEB 

I.  GRAN'THER  HILL'S  PA'TKIDGE  ....  1 
II.   Two  RETURNING  PILGRIMS    .... 

III.  HOME  AGAIN 49 

IV.  AMONG  OLD  FRIENDS fO 

V.  THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE       ....  93 

VI.  THE  PARING-BEK I16 

VII.    IN    THE   LlNTER 136 

VIII.  THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF         ...  143 

IX.  HASTY  PUDDIN' 165 

X.  LE  LOUP  GAROIT     .        •        •        •        •        •  ^6 

XI.   THE  SHOEMAKER'S  GHOST 185 

XII.  A  MORNING  OF  SONG 196 

XIII.  THE  FIRST  Fox 208 

XIV.  THE  DRAWING-BEE 220 

XV.   GOING  FISHING 230 

XVI.  A  RAISING-BEE 237 

XVII.  TREASURE  SEEKERS 246 

XVIII.  MISFITS 254 

XIX.  A  RAINY  DAY 260 

XX.  JUNE  TRAINING 267 

XXL   THE  END  OF  A  JOURNEY 283 

XXII.   A  GATHERING  CLOUD 295 


vi  CONTENTS. 

XXin.  DARK  DATS 304 

XXIV.  FRIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY 314 

XXV.  LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS 328 

XXVI.  GOOD-NIGHT 345 


DANVIS    FOLKS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
GRAN'THEK  HILL'S  PA'TRIDGE. 

THE  September  sun  shone  with  summer-like 
fervor  in  the  little  valley  of  Danvis;  not  an 
afternoon  of  August  had  been  hotter,  or  breathed 
a  droughtier  breath  upon  wilting  forests  and 
sered  fields.  Here  and  there  among  the  dusky 
green  of  the  woods,  a  tree  nurtured  by  more 
sterile  rootage  than  its  neighbors  was  burning 
out  its  untimely  ripeness  in  a  blaze  of  red  or  yel 
low,  from  which  the  puffs  of  warm  wind  scattered 
sparks  of  color  so  intense  that  it  seemed  as  if 
they  might  kindle  the  dry  earth. 

All  nature  was  languid  in  the  unseasonable 
heat  and  drought.  The  unrefreshing  breeze  blew 
in  lazy  puffs  without  even  energy  of  direction,  but 
listlessly  trying  this  quarter  and  that,  now  bear 
ing,  now  dropping,  the  light  burden  of  a  tree's 
complaining,  the  rustle  of  the  rolled  corn  leaves, 
the  faint  whimper  of  tired  brooks,  the  petulant 
clamor  of  the  crows,  and  the  high,  far-away 


2  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

screani  of  'a  hawk  that,  level  with  the  hazy  moun 
tain  peaks,  wheeled  in  slow  circles,  a  hot  brown 
speck  against  the  bronze  sky. 

The  same  wearied  air  pervaded  the  precincts 
of  Joseph  Hill's  home  and  the  house  itself.  The 
hens  lay  panting  with  drooped  wings  under  the 
scant  shade  of  the  currant  bushes,  whose  shriv 
eled  remnant  of  fruit  gave  no  promise  of  refresh 
ing  coolness;  their  half -grown  progeny  stalked 
aimlessly  about  the  yard  in  indolent  quest  of 
nothing,  while  they  grated  out  the  discordant 
yelp  which  is  neither  peep  nor  cluck,  and  expresses 
nothing  if  it  be  not  continual  discontent ;  and  the 
ducks  waddled  home,  thirsty  and  unhappy,  from 
the  dried-up  puddle. 

The  hollyhock  stalks  stood  naked  and  forlorn 
among  the  drooping  leaves,  with  only  here  and 
there  a  blossom  too  stunted  to  tempt  a  bumble 
bee  showing  among  the  browning  buttons  of  seed 
vessels.  The  morning-glory  leaves  hung  limp 
upon  their  twisted  vines,  that  had  evidently 
blown  their  last  purple  trumpet  to  call  the  bees, 
clutching  their  supporting  cords  only  with  a 
dying  grasp.  All  the  house -side  posies  were 
withered,  "  chiny  asters,"  "  sweet-williams,"  and 
"  sturtiums  "  ;  nothing  held  up  its  head  but  the 
sturdy  houseleeks  —  hens  and  chickens  their  mis 
tress  called  them,  and  nursed  them  in  their  box 
in  doors  and  out  the  year  round,  for  their  oddity 
and  their  repute  for  curing  corns. 


GRAN' THEE    HILL'S    PARTRIDGE. 

Even  Gran'ther  Hill,  whom  age  might  wither 
though  it  could  not  sap  his  vitality,  showed  little 
of  his  accustomed  vigor,  as  he  sat  in  the  doorway 
with  his  bristly  chin  upon  his  staff,  staring 
vaguely  on  the  haze-bounded  landscape,  or  at 
something  beyond  the  filmy  veil  unseen  by  other 
and  younger  eyes,  the  past  or  the  future.  Bat 
tlefields  of  Revolutionary  days,  lonely  scouts  in 
the  great  wilderness,  secret  missions  in  the  ser 
vice  of  the  old  Green  Mountain  Boys  —  or  was 
he  looking  forward  to  the  paths  of  the  unknown, 
which  he  must  presently  tread  ? 

Whatever  occupied  his  thoughts,  it  apparently 
was  not  what  was  said  or  done  by  those  near 
him.  In  the  same  room  was  his  son,  who  sat 
with  his  chair  tilted  against  the  wall ;  and  a  well- 
fed,  self-satisfied  man,  who,  slovenly  clad,  though 
his  blue  coat  had  not  been  long  worn  and  its 
brass  buttons  were  bright,  sat  across  the  table 
from  Joseph,  with  a  small  hair  trunk  open  before 
him,  packed  brimful  of  paper  parcels  and  tin 
boxes.  Joseph  Hill's  eldest  daughter,  a  tired, 
overgrown  girl  of  twelve  in  an  outgrown  frock, 
moved  wearily  about  the  household  labors  that 
had  fallen  on  her,  and  her  younger  brother  sat 
disconsolately  in  one  corner,  nursing  an  aching 
tooth  that  kept  him  home  from  school.  Their 
mother,  who  lay  in  the  bedroom  beyond,  had 
been  ill  for  weeks  with  an  intermittent  fever,  but 


4  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

was  now  "  on  the  gain,"  thanks  to  the  treatment 
of  the  keen-eyed,  blue-coated  man  with  the  hair 
trunk  full  of  roots  and  herbs  and  their  tinctures. 

He  was  a  disciple  of  Dr.  Samuel  Thompson, 
a  self-taught  mediciner,  who,  many  years  before, 
had  brought  upon  himself  the  wrath,  bitterer  than 
his  own  concoctions,  of  the  regular  physicians  of 
New  England  by  his  unauthorized  practice  and 
his  denunciations  of  their  methods.  In  time  they 
enlarged  and  improved  their  pharmacopoeia  by 
availing  themselves  of  his  discoveries,  but  gave 
him  no  credit,  and  few  know  to  what  "  noted  em 
piric  "  they  are  indebted  for  them.  Joseph  was 
conservative,  and  would  rather  have  employed  the 
old  regular  physician  of  Danvis  than  this  innova 
tor,  or  perhaps  both,  and  his  father  was  bitter 
"  agin  Injin  an'  ol'  woman  ways  o'  darkterin' ;  " 
but  this  unlicensed  practitioner  had  cured  Maria's 
mother  of  "  newrology,"  and  him  she  was  set 
upon  having,  and  Joseph  consented,  according  to 
his  usual  custom  when  "  M'ri "  insisted. 

"  Mis'  Hill,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  over  his 
spectacles  and  his  trunk  at  Joseph,  "  is  sights 
better.  The  reg'lar  course  we  've  gi'n  her,  lobele 
'metics,  steamin'  an'  sofuth,  has  hove  off  the  agur 
spells  an'  the  fever.  All  she  wants  naow  is 
strenth'nin',  suthin'  tu  give  her  an  appetite  t' 
eat,  an'  suthin'  nourishin'  t'  eat.  We  're  goin' 
tu  leave  her  these  here  spice  bitters,  tu  take  a 


GE ANOTHER    HILL'S    PA'TKIDGE.  5 

small  spoo'f'l  steeped  up  in  a  teacup  o'  hot  water 
three  times  a  day ;  an'  you  must  git  some  popple 
bark,  and  steep  up  a  big  han'f '1  on  't  in  a  gallern 
o*  water,  an'  hev  her  drink  a  ha'  pint  on  't  most 
any  time  when  she  's  dry,  or  a  dozen  times  a  day ; 
an'  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  her  tu  take  a 
leetle  pennyr'yal  tea,  say  a  teacupful  three,  four 
times  a  day,  kinder  'tween  times,  an'  then  eat 
nourishin'  victuals." 

Gran'ther  Hill  turned  his  head  and  glowered 
savagely  at  him,  but  uttered  only  a  contemptuous 
snort. 

"  I  do'  know,"  said  Joseph,  slowly  easing  the 
fore-legs  of  his  chair  to  the  floor  and  as  slowly 
scratching  his  head,  "  but  what  M'ri  kin  hold 
some  victuals  arter  she  's  took  all  them  steepin's, 
but  it  don't  seem  's  'ough  she  could  much,  that  is 
tu  say,  not  a  turrible  sight.  Ye  see,  Darkter,  she 
hain't  a  turrible  big  womern,  that  is,  not  so  big 
as  some.  But  mebby  she  kin.  I  d'  know." 

"  Ye  '11  draowned  her  wi'  yer  cussed  slops  !  " 
Gran'ther  Hill  growled,  turning  in  his  chair  and 
thumping  the  floor  with  rapid  blows  of  his  cane. 
"  'F  you  'd  ha'  gi'n  her  some  callymill  an'  bled 
her  'n  the  fust  on  't,  she  'd  ha'  ben  all  right 
naow !  You  've  roasted  her  an'  biled  her,  an' 
naow  yer  goin'  tu  draowned  her  wi'  yer  pailfuls 
o'  spice  bitters  an'  popple  soup,  an*  the  Lord 
knows  what  tarnal  slops !  " 


6  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

"  Callymill  is  pizon,  an'  tew  much  bleedin'  is 
what  kills  hawgs,"  said  the  doctor  with  calm  em 
phasis. 

"  Pizon  is  good  when  it 's  took  proper,"  Gran- 
'ther  Hill  retorted,  "  an'  folks  hain't  hawgs,  not 
all  of  'em  hain't.  I  wish  't  Darkter  Stun  'ould 
come  along  an'  gi'  me  a  dost  o'  callymill  an'  bleed 
me ;  I  know  it  'ould  make  me  feel  better  this 
tarnal  roastin'  weather.  It 's  a  feller's  blood  'at 
heats  him.  I  c'n  feel  mine  a  chuggin'  up  ag'in 
the  top  o'  my  skull  every  beat  o'  my  pult,  an'  I 
wish  I  was  red  of  a  quart  on  't !  " 

"You  don't  look,  Kepting  Hill,"  the  doctor 
said,  after  a  brief  survey  of  the  old  man's  gaunt 
figure,  uas  if  you  hed  a  grea'  deal  o'  blood  tu 
spare." 

"  I  know  't  I  -'ve  shed  lots  on  't  for  my  coun 
try,"  said  Gran'ther  Hill.  "  But  I  Ve  got  'nough 
left  tu  fill  up  tew,  three  pepper  darkters  wi'  bet 
ter  'n  they  've  got !  " 

"  No  daoubt  on  't,  Kepting,  no  daoubt  on  't," 
the  good-natured  mediciner  answered,  "  but  you 
don't  wanter  waste  it.  Tew  much  good  blood  no 
man  can't  hev,  an'  aour  remedies  make  bad  blood 
good.  You  take  some  pepsissiway  an'  put  it  in 
some  ol'  Medford,  an'  take  a  swaller  three  times 
a  day,  a  good  big  swaller,  Kepting,  an'  see  what 
it  '11  du  for  yer  blood." 

"That  saounds  sensibler  'n  the  water  swash 


GE ANOTHER    HILL'S    PARTRIDGE.  7 

you  was  talkin'  on,  an'  I  begin  tu  think  you 
know  suthin'  arter  all.  Jozeff,  nex'  time  you 
go  over  tu  Hamner's,  you  git  me  a  quart,  V  I  '11 
gether  me  some  pepsissiway,  an'  I  '11  put  in  three, 
four  sprigs,  an'  try  it." 

"  Reason  is  aour  guide,"  said  the  doctor,  "  an' 
aour  remedies  is  what  Natur  p'ints  aout  tu  us. 
We  don't  make  no  secret  o'  what  she  tells  us. 
Naow,  these  'ere  spice  bitters  is  compaounded  of 
several  nat'ral  plants,  but  the  main  ingrejencies 
is  fever-bush  an'  bayberry.  We  hain't  no  se 
crets  ;  all  we  're  after  is  the  trewth." 

"Go  t'  thunder!"  growled  Gran'ther  Hill. 
"  You  're  arter  yer  livin',  jes'  as  all  on  us  is. 
Nothin'  on  this  livin'  airth  riles  me  wus  'n  hearin' 
darkters  an'  preachers  gabbin'  'baout  the'  raslin' 
raound  jes'  for  the  sake  o'  duin'  other  folks  good, 
when  they  an'  ev'ybody  knows  it 's  theirselves 
they  're  workin'  for.  Who  they  tryin'  tu  fool,  — 
God  amighty,  or  folks,  or  the'  ownselves  ?  " 

"  Sartainly,  we  've  got  tu  live  whilest  we  're 
raslin'  for  the  trewth,  Kepting.  You  drawed  pay 
when  you  was  fightin'  fer  your  kentry,  an'  you  fit 
a  leetle  better,  proberbly,  'n  you  would  for 
nothin'  but  glory.  Starvin'  fodder  that  is,  for 
livin'  on  in  this  world.  An'  that  reminds  me  't 
Mis'  Hill  wants  suthin'  nourishin'  t'  eat.  The' 
hain't  nothin'  better  'n  pa'tridge  meat,  which  it  is 
victuals  an'  medicine  to  oncte,  for  a  pa'tridge  is 


8  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

continerly  a-feedin'  on  a  hulsome  diet,  fever-bush 
berries,  wintergreen,  pepsissiway,  blackberries, 
popple-buds,  and  birch-buds,  an'  I  do'  know  what 
all,  of  Nature's  pharmycopy,  which  is  dissimer- 
lated  through  the  meat.  You  never  knowed  a 
man  tu  git  sick  eatin'  pa'tridge,  did  ye,  Kepting 
Hill,  or  you,  Mr.  Hill  ?  "  and  while  waiting  for  a 
reply  the  doctor  dived  into  the  depths  of  his  tall 
Leghorn  hat  for  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief, 
with  which  he  vigorously  mopped  his  face  and 
blew  a  trumpet-blast  of  his  nose. 

"  Not  me,"  said  Gran'ther  Hill.  "  I  've  lived 
on  'em  for  weeks  when  I  was  scaoutin'  'long  wi* 
Peleg  Sunderlan',  an'  the  wolves  had  drove  all 
the  deer  off." 

"  Not  tu  aour  haouse,  we  don't,"  said  Joseph  ; 
"  ner  scasely  git  a  taste  on  'em  sen'  father  gin 
up  huntin'.  Wai,  that  is  tu  say,  exceptin'  when 
Sam  Lovel  brings  us  a  mess,  or  oncte  when  bub 
killed  one  with  his  bow-arrer,  or  mebby  ketched 
it  in  a  snare,  I  d'  know  but  he  did." 

"  I  did  kill  him  wi'  my  bow-arrer,"  protested 
the  boy,  forgetting  his  toothache  in  his  desire  to 
assert  his  sportsmanship  ;  "an'  ol'  he  one  he  was, 
bigger  'n  a  rhuster,  a  thumpin'  of  a  spreuce  lawg 
I  c'n  show  ye,  an'  I  sneaked  up  julluk  gran'ther 
tells  o'  Injins  duin',  an'  I  knawked  him  stiffer 
'n  a  stake,  'n'  I  lit  on  him  'fore  he  —  Here  a 
thump  of  the  grandfather's  cane  reminded  the 


OR  ANOTHER    HILL'S    PARTRIDGE.  9 

boy  of  the  often-repeated  maxim  that  such  as  he 
were  to  be  seen,  not  heard,  and  muttering  that  he 
could  "  show  'em  the  lawg,"  he  subsided  into 
silence  and  the  nursing  of  his  aching  jaw. 

"  I  s'pose  you  c'n  shoot  Mis'  Hill  a  pa'tridge, 
can't  ye,  Mr.  Hill  ?  They  say  the  woods  is  so 
full  on  'em  'at  they  're  a  steckin'  aout  o'  the 
aidges." 

"  No,  Darkter,"  said  Joseph,  going  over  to  the 
stove  hearth  for  his  pipe  and  beginning  a  quest 
for  his  tobacco,  "  I  hain't  no  knack  for  huntin' 
pa'tridge.  They  allers  see  me  afore  I  du  them, 
an'  by  the  time  I  git  my  gun  up  the'  hain't 
nuthin'  left  but  a  glimp  an'  a  noise,  an'  afore  I 
c'n  git  my  mind  made  up  tu  shoot  at  them  onsar- 
tainties,  as  Sam  does,  an'  father  ustur,  both  on 
'em  is  gone.  I  thought  I  left  my  terbarker  on 
the  manteltree  shelf.  Oh,  there  it  is  on  the  win 
der  stool." 

"Wai,"  said  the  doctor,  bending  a  benign 
glance  upon  the  boy,  "bub  c'n  git  his  mar  a 
pa'tridge  with  his  bow-arrer,  I  know,  an'  if  he 
will,  I  '11  pull  his  tooth  so  't  won't  ache  again." 

"  I  won't  tech  tu  try  fer  no  sech  pay  ;  but  '£ 
they  'd  let  me  take  gran'ther's  ol'  gun,  I  'd  git 
one.  The'  's  a  hull  litter  on  'em  stays  up  in 
the  aidge  o'  the  parstur." 

"  You  shoot  a  pa'tridge  wi'  my  gun  ?  "  growled 
his  grandfather,  glowering  upon  him.  "  Ye 


10  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

could  n't  hoi'  it  tu  arm's  len'th  a  secont,  you 
hain't  staout  'nough  tu  pull  the  tricker  '£  you  c'ld 
reach  it,  an'  if  ye  could  't  'ould  kick  ye  int'  the 
middle  o'  next  week !  It 's  a  man's  gun,  that  is," 
pointing  up  to  the  long-barreled  flint-lock  that 
hung  above  the  mantel,  gray  with  all  the  dust 
which  had  fallen  on  it  since  the  spring  campaign 
against  the  crows,  "  an'  it  's  killed  moose  an' 
wolves  an'  bear  an'  Injins  an'  Tories  an'  Hessians 
an?  Britishers,  an'  it  c'ld  tell  who  hel'  it  when  it 
killed  'em.  He  hain't  dead  yit ;  an'  'f  ye  want  a 
pa'tridge,  he  c'n  git  ye  one,  which  his  name  is 
Josiah  Hill.  What  ye  say  'baout  pa'tridge  is 
sensibler  'n  what  ye  say  'bout  darkterin',  an' 
Marier  's  goin'  tu  hev  one.  I  'd  be  willin'  fer 
you  tu  pick  aout  my  victuals,  but  I  'd  ruther  hev 
an'  ol'-fashioned  reg'lar  larnt  physican  darkter  du 
my  darkterin'." 

"  Reg'lar  licensed  pizoners,  they  be,  ign'antly 
killin'  folks  under  kiver  of  the  die-plomies,"  Dr. 
Wead  protested  in  a  discreetly  low  voice ;  then 
in  a  louder  tone,  "  seem  's  'ough  you  was  ruther 
along  in  years  tu  go  huntin',  Kepting.  Better 
start  aout  some  o'  the  young  fellers,  that  aire 
Lovel,  fer  instance.  They  say  he 's  a  marster 
hand  at  huntin'." 

"  If  ever  I  got  sick  o'  anythin',''  said  the  old 
man,  bending  his  bushy  brows  in  a  savage  frown 
and  thumping  the  floor  with  his  staff,  "  it  's  evei> 


GR ANOTHER    HILL'S    PA' TRIDGE.  11 

lastin'ly  hearin'  tell  o'  that  aire  Sam  Level's 
huntin'  !  Ye  'd  think,  tu  hear  'em  talk,  'at  me 
an'  Peleg  Sunderlan'  waVt  never  nowheres 
'longside  o'  him,  —  him  't  was  brung  up  on  pa'- 
tridge  an'  foxes  tu  be  sot  up  'longside  o'  men  't 
was  raised  when  the'  was  painters  and  Injins  in 
the  woods  thicker  'n  red  squirrels  be  naow  !  I 
s'pose  he  ken  shoot  tol'able  well  wi'  his  cannern 
fer  nowerdays,  but  I  git  almighty  sick  o'  hearin' 
tell  on  't.  Jozeff  here  's  allers  braggin'  secont 
han'  o'  what  Sam  Lovel  's  done,  an'  Jozeff  do' 
know  one  eend  of  a  gun  f 'm  t'  other.  Took 
arter  his  mother,  'n'  she  wa'  no  hunter.  Bub, 
here,  ac's  more  like,  an'  'f  he  'd  ben  borned  fifty 
year  ago,  when  the'  was  suthin'  tu  hunt,  he  'd 
ha'  ben  a  hunter."  Even  such  faint  praise 
banished  for  a  moment  the  torture  of  the  aching 
tooth,  as  the  boy  cast  longing  looks  up  at  the  an 
cient  gun,  whose  brass  mountings  were  brighter 
and  more  precious  to  his  eyes  than  burnished 
gold. 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  tu  git  Marier  a  pa' tridge,"  the 
old  man  went  on.  "  Good  min'  ter  go  right  off. 
'F  I  don't  I  will  in  the  mornin'  ;  I  Ve  heerd  a 
gun  every  oncte  in  a  while  all  the  art'noon. 
There  't  goes  ag'in,"  as  a  flat  report  came  faint 
and  echoless  through  the  sultry  air  from  the 
lower  slope  of  the  mountain  side.  "  He  hain't 
killin'  nothin',  I  know  by  the  way  his  gun  saounds, 


12  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

but  he  '11  scare  ev'ythin'  aout'n  the  woods  er  over 
the  inaountin.  Guess  I  'd  better  go  right  off  an* 
git  ahead  on  him." 

"  Better  wait  till  the  cool  o'  the  mornin',  father. 
They'll  all  git  settled  back  in  the'  haunts  by 
then,"  Joseph  suggested ;  and  then  in  a  loud 
whisper  to  the  doctor,  "  He  '11  fergit  all  'baout  it 
by  then ! " 

"  Wai,  mebby ;  I  '11  see,"  said  his  father,  set 
tling  back  uneasily  in  his  armchair,  and  again 
fixing  his  senile  stare  on  the  outer  world. 

"Naow,  then,"  said  Dr.Wead  in  a  more  cheer 
ful  tone  than  the  proposal  warranted,  "  naow,  then, 
bub,  'f  you  seddaown  in  the  door  an'  brace  yer 
back  ag'in'  one  post  an'  yer  feet  ag'in'  t'  other, 
I  '11  red  ye  o'  that  aire  pesky  tooth  in  a  jiffy." 

"  I  do'  wanter  hev  it  pulled !  "  the  boy  whim 
pered.  "  It  don't  ache  a  mite  naow  !  " 

"  It 's  unly  foolin'  on  ye,  bub,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  That 's  a  trick  the  pesky  things  is  allers  up  tu. 
I  won't  hurt  ye  more  'n  a  minute,  an'  then  you  '11 
be  tu  play  an'  practicin'  wi'  yer  bow-arrer  fer  to 
shoot  yer  mar  a  pa'tridge." 

"  Why,  yes,  Josie,"  urged  his  father,  u  jest  sed 
daown  an'  hev  her  aout  julluk  a  man,  an'  I  '11  git 
ye  —  le'  me  see,  why,  I  '11  git  ye  a  jew-sharp  nex' 
time  I  go  t'  the  store." 

"  Can't  play  no  jew-sharp  when  I  hain't  got  no 
teeth,  more  'n  gran'ther  can,"  the  boy  half  sobbed. 


GR  ANOTHER    HILUS    PARTRIDGE.  13 

"  Could  n't  ye  give  him  sutliin'  tu  kinder  ease 
it  up  f er  a  spell  ? "  Joseph  asked,  after  puzzling 
his  brains  for  a  more  tempting  offer.  "  'F  his 
mother  was  araound  he  c'ld  stan'  it  better." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "  Nothin'  but  cold 
iron  '11  stop  it." 

"  It  '11  hurt  like  Sam  Hill !  "  howled  poor  little 
Josiah. 

"  Look  a-here,  bub,"  said  his  grandfather,  turn 
ing  his  chair  again  to  face  the  room.  "  It  hain't 
a-goin'  tu  be  said  'at  a  boy  'at  wants  tu  go 
huntin'  wi'  a  gun,  an'  which  he 's  named  arter  his 
gran'ther  that  fit  tu  Hubbar'ton  an'  Bennin'ton, 
to  say  nuthin'  o'  takin'  Ticonderogue,  is  a-goin' 
tu  raise  a  rumpus  'baout  hevin'  a  mis'able  leetle 
tooth  pulled  aout.  If  ye  don't  come  right  stret 
here  an'  seddaown  in  the  door  an'  open  yer 
maouth  an'  shet  yer  head,  I  '11  take  ye  up  tu  the 
leegislatur  this  fall,  right  afore  them  tew  brass 
cannern  't  we  took  f'm  the  Hessians  tu  Bennin' 
ton,  an'  hev  yer  name  changed,  the  hull  on 't ; 
Josier  shall  be  Nosier,  an'  Hill  shall  be  Holler, 
'cause  ye  '11  be  so  low  daown,  an'  'cause  ye  '11  hol 
ler  for  hevin'  a  tooth  pulled.  An'  if  ye  seddaown 
like  a  man  an'  say  nothin',  I  '11  let  ye  shoot  my 
gun  tu  a  mark,  'f  it  kicks  ye  furder  'n  ye  shoot I 
There !  " 

The  boy  looked  a  moment  into  the  relaxed 
sternness  of  his  grandfather's  face,  and  then,  hia 


14  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

own  pale  but  resolute,  he  walked  over  and  took 
the  prescribed  position  on  the  threshold. 

"  Git  aout  yer  cant-hook,  Darkter,  whilst  his 
grit 's  up,"  said  Gran'ther  Hill,  while  Joseph  re 
treated  to  the  bedside  of  his  wife,  whither,  with 
an  appalled  look  dispossessing  the  wearied  ex 
pression  of  her  face,  his  daughter  accompanied 
him. 

The  doctor,  taking  the  terrible  turn-key  from 
his  trunk,  bestrode  the  boy,  whose  head  he 
grasped  between  his  knees,  and  in  one  brief  but 
awful  moment  wrenched  out  the  tooth  and  a  sup 
pressed  groan. 

"  You  '11  make  a  hunter  an'  a  sojer,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  You  stood  it  like  a  major,  an'  I  'm 
goiii'  tu  wrop  up  that  tooth  in  a  piece  o'  paper 
for  ye  t'  show  folks." 

The  old  man  gave  his  grandson  a  gentle  punch 
in  the  ribs  with  his  cane  to  express  his  approval. 
«  Ded  n't  hurt  ye  much  naow,  did  it,  bub  ?  " 

"  The  hole  aches  wus  'n  the  darned  tooth  did," 
said  Josiah  the  younger.  "  When  ye  gointer  let 
me  shoot  yer  gun,  gran'ther  ?  " 

"  T'morrer,  when  I  git  back  f'm  huntin',"  his 
grandsire  promptly  responded.  "  Say,  bub,  is 
that  Mis'  Purin't'n  comin'  up  the  rhud  ?  Yes? 
Well,  then,  I  'm  goin'  huntin'  right  naow  'f  she  's 
comin'  here,  'n  I  '11  bate  she  be."  Arising  with 
all  the  speed  that  his  stiff  joints  could  compass, 


GE ANOTHER    HILL'S   PA'TRIDGE.  15 

he  took  down  his  gun,  drew  the  iron  ramrod  and 
dropped  it  into  the  barrel,  then  measured  the 
protruding  end  with  his  fingers,  returned  the  rod 
to  its  pipes,  threw  the  long  barrel  into  the  hol 
low  of  his  arm,  and  critically  examined  flint  and 
priming,  before  his  son  had  come  forth  from  the 
bedroom. 

"  Why,  father,  ye  'd  better  not  go  this  arter- 
noon,  you  '11  git  your  blood  all  het  up !  "  Joseph 
expostulated. 

"  Your  darkter  says  I  hain't  got  no  blood,"  his 
father  answered,  reaching  up  for  the  big  powder- 
horn,  the  buckskin  shot-pouch,  and  a  wisp  of  tow 
for  wadding,  while  he  whispered  loudly,  "  That 
aire  Purin't'n  womern  's  a-comin',  V  I  'd  ruther 
git  het  an'  sunstruck  'n  tu  hear  her  gab.  Won 
der  Purin't'n  never  took  tu  huntin'." 

"  She  wont  stay  long,  not  so  turrible  long,  I 
don't  scasely  b'lieve  she  will,  an'  you  c'n  go  an' 
lay  daown  in  yer  room,"  urged  Joseph  ;  and  the 
doctor  also  made  some  attempt  to  dissuade  the  old 
man  from  going  abroad,  though  it  was  noticeable 
that  he  was  hurriedly  packing  the  little  hair  trunk 
and  hastily  preparing  for  his  own  departure. 

"  Don't  you  go  a-huntin'  no  pa'tridge  for  me," 
pleaded  Maria's  feeble  voice  from  the  bedroom. 
"  A  chicken  '11  du  jest  as  well." 

"  I  tell  ye  you  're  a-goin'  tu  hev  a  pa'tridge,  an' 
I  'm  going  tu  git  it !  "  the  veteran  protested. 


16  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

"  Wai,"  said  Joseph,  making  search  for  his  hat 
in  all  places  but  under  his  chair,  where  it  was, 
"  ef  you  will  go  ag'in'  all  reason,  I  '11  go  'long 
with  ye,  erless  I  '11  hev  bub  go  ;  er  mebbe  we  '11 
both  on  us  go,  tu  kerry  your  game,  ye  know,  an' 
yer  gun,  an'  sech,  an'  mek  it  kinder  comf  table 
fer  ye." 

"  When  I  go  huntin'  I  don't  go  't  the  head  of 
a  army,  wi'  a  fife  an'  drum  a-playin',"  cried 
Gran'ther  Hill  at  the  top  of  his  cracked  and 
whistling  voice,  "  nor  no  lummuxes,  an'  no  bubs 
a-taggin'  tu  my  heels,  a-scarin'  all  the  game  outen 
sight  an'  hearin'  wi'  the'  crackin',  an'  snapping 
an'  sloshin',  an'  gabbin' !  D'  ye  think  I  'm  a  five- 
year-ol'  boy  't  can't  go  nowheres  by  hisself  ?  You 
stay  't  hum  an'  tend  t'  your  own  business,  an* 
I  '11  tend  tu  mine  !  " 

Lowering  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  to  clear  the 
lintel  of  the  door,  he  went  out  as  Mrs.  Purington 
entered.  Dropping  heavily  into  the  nearest  chair 
and  puffing  out  a  brief  salutation,  she  cast  back 
her  green  gingham  sunbonnet,  and  began  fan 
ning  her  hot  face  with  her  checked  apron  held  by 
its  nether  corners. 

"  It  is  tew  orfle  hot  tu  stir  aou'  door,  but  I 
thought  I  mus'  come  an'  chirk  up  Mis'  Hill  a 
leetle  mite,  an'  I  tol'  him  I  would  come  if  it 
melted  me.  I  declare  tu  goodness  I  b'lieve  it 
hes  !  Whew  !  Who  ever  see  sech  weather  for 


GRAN'THER    HILL'S    PARTRIDGE.  17 

the  time  o'  year  ?  Hain't  your  caows  s'runk  the' 
milk  orfle  ?  An'  aour  cistern  's  mos'  dry  an'  the 
spring  hain't  never  ben  so  low  sen'  he  c'n  remem 
ber.  I  d'  know  what 's  going  tu  be  become  on  us 
all  'f  we  don't  git  shaowers.  It 's  enough  tu  make 
well  folks  sick  an'  tu  kill  sick  folks,  an'  I  p'sume 
tu  say  it  will  kill  Mis'  Hill.  Haow  is  she  any 
way  ?  "  leaning  forward  to  peer  into  the  bedroom, 
her  fat  hands,  still  holding  the  apron  corners, 
resting  on  her  short  lap.  "  Gittin'  wus  an'  wus,  I 
s'pose  ?  "  then,  with  a  sudden  fear,  "  'T  hain't 
nothin'  ketchin',  I  hope,  — none  of  these  ketchin' 
fevers  ?  " 

"  No,"  Joseph  assured  her.  "  Intumittens,  or 
some  sech  name,  the  darkter  calls  it.  Suthin' 
like  f ev'  'n'  aig ;  kinder  wus  'n  that,  an'  then 
ag'in,  not  so  bad,"  he  explained. 

Her  fears  of  infection  set  at  rest,  Mrs.  Puring- 
ton  drew  her  chair  to  the  bedroom  door  and  set 
herself  to  comforting  the  sick  woman. 

"  Wai,  Marier,  you  du  look  peakeder  'n  what 
I  expected,  an'  it 's  a  massy  't  I  come  when  I  did, 
or  I  might  not  ha'  seen  you  alive.  Mis'  Tarbell, 
his  brother's  wife's  sister,  was  took  jest  the  same 
way  'long  in  hayin',  an'  it  hove  her  intu  quick 
consumpshern,  an'  she  died  'fore  the  graound 
froze  up,  which  was  some  consolashern,  'cause  't 
wa'n't  no  such  work  diggin'  the  grave  as  't  'ould 
ha'  ben  later.  I  du  hope  you  feel  prepared  for 
the  wust,  Marier,  I  du," 


18  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

"  Ruby,"  said  Mrs.  Hill,  as  her  eye  caught  the 
scared  face  of  her  daughter,  "  I  wish 't  you  'd 
gwaout  an'  see  'f  you  can't  find  that  speckled 
hen's  nest.  No,  Mis'  Purin't'n,  I  hain't  prepared 
for  no  wust.  I  've  hed  that,  an'  I  'm  better.  All 
I  want  naow  is  some  stren'th  tu  be  up  an'  a-doin'. 
Poor  Ruby  !  "  as  her  eyes  anxiously  followed  the 
girl's  wearied  footsteps.  "  It 's  ben  tough  on  her, 
an'  she  's  putty  nigh  tuckered  aout." 

The  scared  and  tired  girl  got  little  comfort, 
except  in  escaping  from  the  alarming  and  weari 
some  gabble  of  the  visitor,  in  her  listless,  ram 
bling  search  for  the  nest  of  the  Dominique  among 
the  withered  currant  bushes  and  the  rampant 
weeds,  that  in  spite  of  the  drought  still  nourished 
in  the  fence-corners,  to  the  delight  of  the  yellow 
birds,  who,  too  busy  to  sing,  if  singing  days  were 
not  over,  gathered  the  seeds  of  pig-weed  and  red- 
root.  Nor  was  there  more  comfort  in  moping  by 
her  mother's  posy-bed,  whose  neglected  plants 
looked  as  tired  as  herself. 

"That's  allers  the  way  wi'  folks  'at's  got 
consumpshern,"  continued  Mrs.  Purington, 
u  a-thinkin'  they  're  better  when  they  're  growin' 
wus  —  allers.  An'  that  pepper  an'  steam  dark- 
ter,  —  I  met  him  as  I  was  a-comin'  int'  the  do'- 
yard,  —  a  mis'able  cretur  tu  look  at.  They  say 
he  jest  biles  folkses'  skins  off,  an'  turns  'em 
inside  aout  wi'  his  lobele  'metics.  Ef  I  wa'n't 


GR ANOTHER    HILUS   PARTRIDGE.  19 

so  beat  aout  wi'  the  heat,  I  'd  turn  tu  an'  help 
Ruby  fix  up  things,  for  it  does  look  dreffle  run 
daown  't  the  heel  in  the  kitchin,  —  hain't  ben  int' 
the  square  room ;  but  it  does  seem  as  if 't  was  all 
I  c'ld  du  jest  tu  set  here  an'  comfort  ye  all  I  ken. 
I  will  fix  yer  piller,"  and  she  set  to  beating  the 
pillow  close  to  the  convalescent's  ears,  and  twitch 
ing  it  to  and  fro  under  her  head.  "  I  'd  ha'  sent 
up  sis  tu  help  Ruby,  but  she  's  daown  to  Huldy's, 
an'  they  're  fixin'  up  fer  uncle  Lisher  Peggs  an' 
aunt  Jerushy,  which  they're  expectin'  on  'em 
back  from  the  West  nex'  canal-boat  'at  comes. 
A  turrible  senseless  piece  o'  business  all  raound ; 
but  they  will  hev  it  the'  own  way,  —  Huldy  an' 
Sam."  And  so  she  went  on  with  her  torturing 
gabble,  which  the  sick  woman  was  thankful  only 
tired,  but  did  not  frighten  her. 

Meanwhile  Gran'ther  Hill  was  hobbling  across 
the  fields  towards  the  woods,  followed  by  the 
longing  eyes  of  his  grandson.  Dr.  Wead,  watch 
ing  the  bent  figure  from  the  height  of  his  sulky- 
seat,  rocking  on  its  leathern  thorough-braces, 
remarked  to  himself,  "A  stronery  tough  ol'  crit 
ter  for  a  man  'at 's  ben  pizened  wi'  callymill  fer 
the  Lord  knows  haow  many  year,  an'  as  contrairy 
as  he  is  ol'  an'  tough." 

He  was  a  pathetic  old  figure  to  look  upon  as, 
supporting  his  stiffened  legs  with  his  staff,  and 
trailing  his  long  gun  with  the  unf orgotten  handi- 


20  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

ness  acquired  in  years  so  far  past  that  they  were 
like  a  dream,  he  picked  his  slow  way  across  the 
shrunken  brook  and  into  the  skirt  of  the  forest. 
The  woods  were  very  still,  scarcely  stirred  by  the 
light  puffs  of  the  breeze  ;  the  birds,  their  smnmer 
songs  forgotten,  so  silent,  and  the  feeble  current 
of  the  brook  babbling  so  faintly,  that  the  con 
tinuous  murmur  of  the  bees  among  the  woodside 
asters  was  the  sound  most  audible,  save  when  a 
locust  shrilled  its  prolonged,  monotonous  cry  that 
presently  sank  with  an  exhausted  fall  to  the  dron 
ing  undertone  of  the  bees. 

The  aged  hunter  made  his  way  through  the 
bordering  thickets  and  over  the  dry  matting  of 
old  leaves  with  a  stealthier  tread  than  many  a 
younger  man  might  have,  and  scanned  carefully 
with  slow,  dulled  gaze  the  shaded  depths  of  low- 
branched  young  evergreens,  sapling  poplars  and 
birches,  and  thorny  tangles  of  blackberry  briers. 

Suddenly  fell  on  his  ears  the  noise  of  scurry 
ing  feet  among  the  dry  leaves,  and  the  warning 
"  wish,  quit,  kr-r-r,  quit !  quit !  "  of  a  grouse. 
Dropping  his  staff  and  bringing  his  cocked  piece 
to  a  ready,  he  searched  the  thicket  with  eager 
eyes  and  presently  discovered  an  alert  dusky  form 
skulking  among  the  shadows.  The  long  gun  was 
aimed  with  almost  the  celerity  if  not  with  the  pre 
cision  of  its  ancient  use  in  the  boasted  days  when 
its  owner  scouted  and  hunted  with  doughty  Peleg 


GE ANOTHER    HILL'S    PARTRIDGE.  21 

Sunderland.  The  trigger  was  pulled,  the  flint 
flashed  out  a  shower  of  sparks,  and  the  old  gun 
bellowed  and  kicked  in  a  way  worthy  of  its  re 
nown,  and  mowed  a  narrow  swath  through  the 
stems  of  saplings  and  briers.  The  booming  re 
port,  so  different  from  the  flat  discharges  which 
at  irregular  intervals  during  the  afternoon  had 
cracked  through  the  sultry  air,  came  to  young 
Josiah's  ears,  and  almost  shook  him  from  his 
seat  on  the  rail  fence  with  the  thrill  of  delight  it 
sent  through  him. 

Rushing  into  the  house,  he  loudly  proclaimed, 
"  Gran'ther  's  fired.  Yes,  sir !  I  heard  him !  " 
and  in  the  next  breath,  "  I  'm  goin'  t'  see  what 
he  's  got f  ' 

"  Don't  you  dast  tu !  "  his  father  said  with 
unwonted  decision.  "  'F  he  hain't  killed  no- 
thin',  an'  't  ain't  no  ways  likely  't  he  hes,  though 
the  's  no  tellin'  but  what  he  hes,  he  '11  be  mad 
der 'n  tew  settin'  hens.  Don't  ye  dast  tu  go, 
bub !  " 

"  Jest 's  like  's  not  his  gun  hes  busted,  er  gone 
off  't  wrong  eend,  er  suthin',  an'  killed  him,"  said 
Mrs.  Purington.  "Guns  is  dreffle  dang'ous 
things.  It's  'nough  tu  dry  up  a  feller's  blood 
wi'  col'  chills  tu  hear  father  Purin't'n  when  he 
was  alive,  an'  uncle  Lisher,  tell  o'  the  folks  'at 
got  killed  by  'em  tu  Plattsburgh  fight,  which 
they  was  both  there.  Don't  ye  go  nigh,  Bull 


22  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

Hill.  'T  'ould  scare  ye  t'  death  tu  see  your 
gran'ther  a-lyin'  in  his  gore." 

"  lied  n't  you  better  go  an'  see,  Joseph  ?  "  said 
Maria  anxiously. 

"  Sho !  "  said  her  husband.  "  Father  could  n't 
shoot  hisself  wi'  the  ol'  gun  erless  he  got  some- 
b'dy  tu  help  him.  It 's  longer  'n  a  brook,  an'  it 
never  busts,  leastways  it  never  did  's  I  knows  on. 
Ketch  me  a-goin'  nigh  him  'f  he  's  missed.  He  '11 
make  things  gee,  a-blamin'  it  onter  all  creation 
but  hisself." 

Thus  admonished,  the  boy  went  back  to  his 
perch  on  the  top  rail,  to  content  himself  with 
impatient  watching  for  his  grandsire's  return. 

It  was  well  he  did  not  seek  him,  for  he  would 
have  found  him  then  in  his  most  peppery  mood. 
Quicker  than  the  echo  of  the  discharge  had  come 
a  rapid  beat  of  wings  and  a  brief  scurry  among 
the  dead  leaves.  The  old  man  stooped  low  and 
peered  beneath  the  slowly  lifting  smoke,  almost 
confident  that  he  would  see  his  victim  fluttering 
out  its  last  breath  in  or  near  the  ragged  path  of 
the  charge.  But  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
astir  but  a  sapling  slowly  bending  to  its  fall  from 
its  half-severed  stem,  a  sere  leaf  wavering  to 
earth,  and  the  eddying  haze  of  rising  smoke. 
All!  the  bird  was  stone  dead,  and  lying  there 
somewhere,  waiting  to  be  picked  up  without  cast 
ing  one  reproving  glance  upon  his  slayer  from 


GE AN' TREE    HILL'S    PARTRIDGE.  23 

his  glazing  eyes.  Gran'ther  Hill  was  glad  of 
that,  for  like  all  old  hunters  he  had  grown  ten 
der-hearted  toward  his  prey. 

First  he  reloaded  his  gun,  measuring  powder 
and  shot  in  his  palm  with  scrupulous  care  in 
spite  of  his  haste  to  go  forward,  and  then,  stoop 
ing  low,  groped  his  way  into  the  thicket.  Scan 
ning  the  ground  foot  by  foot,  often  misled  this 
way  and  that  by  some  semblance  of  what  he  was 
in  quest  of,  objects  that  upon  poking  with  his 
staff  proved  but  gray  and  russet  stumps  or  clots 
of  old  leaves,  he  crept  on  far  beyond  the  range  of 
his  gun,  growing  less  hopeful  with  each  more 
wearied  step.  Then  he  retraced  his  course,  zig 
zagging  across  it,  peering  into  hollow  logs  and 
probing  brush  heaps  with  his  staff,  and  then,  took 
his  bearings  anew  from  the  place  where  he  had 
shot,  and  went  over  the  ground  again  and  again, 
rewarded  only  by  finding  one  mottled  tail-feather, 
which  he  thrust  in  his  hat  to  disprove  a  total 
miss,  and  grew  more  rebellious  against  fate  with 
every  unsuccessful  attempt  to  find  his  bird, 
which,  in  fact,  sat  unscathed  amid  the  branches 
of  a  fir,  recovering  from  the  terror  of  the  sud 
den  storm  of  lead  that  had  so  lately  hurtled 
past  it. 

"  What  tarnel  dodunk  loaded  that  aire  gun,  I 
wonder  ?  "  he  growled,  glaring  savagely  into  space. 
"  Did  n't  put  no  wad  top  o'  the  paowder,  I  '11  bate, 


24  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

er  the  shot  was  tu  big  er  tu  small  er  suthin'! 
Er  't  was  some  of  that  cussed  paowder  o'  Chapin's ; 
't  won't  burn  no  quicker  'n  green  popple  sawdust, 
an'  the  pa'tridge  seen  the  flash  an'  dodged !  But 
I  hit  him,  I  know  I  did !  I  never  missed  a  set- 
tin'  shot  in  my  life,  an'  he  lays  right  here  clus 
tu,  deader  'n  hay,  on'y  I  can't  see  him !  Blast 
my  darned  eyes,  a-failin'  on  me  jes'  naow,  arter 
eighty-six,  goin'  on  eighty-seben  year !  I  wish  't 
I  hed  my  specs  ;  I  wish  't  I  let  Jozeff's  boy  come 
'long  wi'  me,  he's  sharper  eyed  'n  a  lynk ;  he  'd 
ha'  f aound  him.  I  '11  fetch  him  here  an'  hev  him 
look,  an'  ef  he  don't  find  him  I  '11  skin  him.  'F 
I  thought  't  was  you  't  made  me  miss  him,"  shak 
ing  his  gun  till  the  ramrod  rattled  in  its  pipes 
and  wooden  casing,  "ye  ol'  wore  aout,  goo'-for- 
nothin'  iron  hole,  I'd  wallupse  ye  raound  a  tree, 
darn  ye !  But  I  did  n't  miss  him,  he  's  lyin' 
dead  clus  tu,  'mongst  some  o'  these  cussed  rhuts 
an'  bresh.  Darn  yer  cussed  hidin'  tricks !  "  ad 
dressing  the  trees  and  shaking  his  staff  at  them, 
"  can't  ye  let  an  ol'  man  'at  fit  f  er  ye  when  you 
wa'n't  knee-high  tu  a  tud-stool  hev  one  leetle, 
nasty,  mis'able  pa'tridge  f  er  his  sick  darter  ?  Darn 
ye,  I  wish  't  ye  'ould  all  burn  up  an'  roast  yer 
cussed  pa'tridges  inside  on  ye !  " 

For  answer  came  a  rustle  of  feet  suddenly 
grown  careless  where  they  trod,  and  then  ap 
peared  through  the  parted  branches  the  tall  form 


GR ANOTHER    HILL'S    PATRIDGE.  25 

and  good-natured  face  of  Sam  Lovel.  The  old 
man  stared  half-angrily,  half-ashamed,  at  the  ap 
parition. 

"  Why,  Gran'ther  Hill,  you  a-huntin'  this  hot 
day  ?  "  Sam  asked. 

"Yis,  I  be,"  the  old  man  answered  testily. 
"  I  do'  know  but  I  got  jes'  's  good  right  tu  go 
a-huntiii'  hot  days  as  other  folks." 

"  Sartainly,  gran'ther,  sartainly  ;  but  I  did  n't 
s'pose  the'  was  nob'dy  else  but  me  sech  a  fool  as 
tu  go  huntin'  sech  weather.  Ye  know  some  on 
'em  calls  ev'rybody  fools  'at  goes  huntin'  any 
time.  Wai,  what  luck  be  ye  hevin'  ?  " 

"  The  cussedest  luck  I  ever  see.  I  come  tu  git 
a  pa'tridge  fer  Jozeff  s  wife  'at 's  sick,  an'  I  shot 
one  fust  thing,  an'  I  can't  find  the  darned  thing, 
an'  it  hain't  tew  rod  off  f'm  where  we  be." 

"  Wing  broke,  an'  hid  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  killed  deader  'n  hay,  jest  one  kerflum- 
mux  an'  still ;  an'  I  can't  find  it  nowhere,  nothin' 
but  this  tail  feather." 

This  Sam  examined,  but  did  not  suggest  the 
patent  fact  that  it  was  not  cut  out  by  a  shot,  nor 
the  possibility  of  a  miss.  "  Wai,  naow,  mebby  I 
c'n  help  ye  find  him ;  four  eyes  is  better  'n  tew 
sometimes.  I  s'pose  you  hain't  shot  a  pa'tridge 
afore  for  a  good  spell,  an'  you  would  n't  ha'  ben 
tryin'  naow  only  tu  git  one  for  M'ri.  Wai,  le'  's 
see,  you  sarch  in  there,  an'  I  '11  try  up  this  way. 


26  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

He  >s  flummuxed  inter  some  bresh  heap  er  hol» 
ler,  I  bate  ye.  An'  they  look  julluk  the  dead 
leaves  '£  they  don't  lay  belly  up,  anyway." 

Searching  intently  in  one  direction  while  the 
old  man  pottered  in  another,  Sam  presently 
shouted  gleefully,  "  Here  he  is,  gran'ther ! 
Deader  'n  a  mallet,  lyin'  in  a  bresh  heap  't  you 
Ve  trod  onter  !  You  most  took  his  head  off  an' 
knocked  him  gaily  west.  It  was  jest  the  stren'th 
o'  the  shot  'at  hove  him  here  !  "  and  Sam  reap 
peared,  holding  a  rather  rumpled  partridge, 
whose  head  dangled  from  the  ruffed  neck  by  a 
film  of  skin. 

The  old  man,  more  pleased  than  a  child  with  a 
coveted  toy,  took  the  bird  and  smoothed  its  rum 
pled  feathers,  so  absorbed  that  he  did  not  notice 
the  softened  thud,  mixed  with  the  careless  scuff 
of  Sam's  foot,  of  something  that  fell  between  them. 

"  Wai,  I  '11  be  darned !  "  Sam  ejaculated  in 
suppressed  surprise ;  "  ef  here  ain't  another  *at 
we  're  most  treadin'  onter !  "  and  stooping,  ho 
picked  up  another  partridge,  that  with  its  life 
had  almost  lost  its  head. 

"  Tew  tu  one  shot,  by  the  gret  horn  spoon  ! 
Wai,  gran'ther,  you  beat  the  hull  caboodle  !  "  and 
he  patted  the  veteran's  shoulder  tenderly.  "  I 
never  done  that  but  oncte,  an'  I  Ve  bragged  on 
't  ever  sence." 

Gran'ther  Hill's  blank  stare  of   astonishment 


GE ANOTHER    HILL'S    PARTRIDGE.  27 

relaxed  into  a  toothless  grin  of  supreme  delight, 
and  his  bleared  eyes  were  dim  with  unaccustomed 
moisture. 

"  I  knowed  the'  was  one  a-lyin'  here  some- 
wheres,  but  I  never  'spected  the'  was  tew,"  he 
said,  his  voice  trembling  with  the  swelling  and 
throbbing  pride  of  his  heart.  "  Young  eyes  is 
sharper  '11  oF  ones,  an'  I  'm  a  thaousan'  times 
obleeged  tu  ye'  fur  findin'  my  pa'tridges.  I  'd 
abaout  gi'n  up,  an'  was  goin'  hum  tu  git  Jozeff's 
boy  tu  help  me  find  the  one  't  I  knowed  I  killed ; 
he  's  got  eyes  julluk  a  lynk,  an  'ould  ha'  made  a 
hunter  'f  he  'd  ben  borned  soon  'nough,  when  the* 
wus  suthin'  wuth  huntin'.  These  'ere  '11  jest  set 
Marier  right  up,  an'  fore  they  're  gone,  I  '11  git 
her  another.  They  thought*!  couldn't  git  nary 
one,  but  't  ain't  nothin'  tu  kill  a  pa'tridge  when 
ye  know  haow  ; "  and  all  the  while  he  was  slowly 
turning  the  birds  before  his  admiring  eyes. 

"  Naow  'f  I  c'n  find  me  some  lutherwood,  I  '11 
tie  them  pa'tridge  laigs  tugether  an'  sling  'em 
crost  my  gun  an'  g'  hum.  You  don't  see  some 
handy,  du  ye  ?  " 

Yes,  Sam  saw  a  sprawling  moose-wood  or  wic- 
opy  close  at  hand,  and  presently  fitted  the  old 
man  out  with  a  thong  of  its  tough  bark,  where 
with  the  birds  were  tied  together,  ready  for  sling 
ing  on  the  gun  barrel. 

"  'T  ain't  every  day  't  ye  see  a  man  goin'  hunt- 


28  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

in'  wi'  a  gun  in  one  hand  an'  a  cane  in  t'  other," 
Gran'ther  Hill  chuckled  ;  "  but  the  ol'  gun  an'  me 
hain't  forgot  aour  ol'  tricks  'f  we  do  go  wi'  a  cane. 
It 's  kinder  cur'ous  't  I  hit  'em  both  in  the  neck 
an'  nowheres  else  'cept  knockin'  aout  one  tail 
feather,  an'  there  it  is,  a-missin'  ; "  but  he  did 
not  notice  that  the  feather  in  his  hat  did  not  cor 
respond  in  length  or  markings  with  those  in  the 
tail  of  the  bird  that  he  was  inspecting. 

"  The  ol'  gun  kerries  turrible  clus,"  Sam  ex 
claimed,  "  an'  jes'  one  stray  shot  hit  the  tail  — • 
glanced  on  a  twig  like  's  not." 

"  An'  hain't  you  killed  nary  one  ?  "  the  old  man 
asked,  only  now  noticing  that  Sam  carried  no 
game  in  sight.  "  I  swan,  I  'd  ort  tu  divide  wi' 
ye,"  making  a  feeble  motion  toward  untying  one 
of  his  birds. 

"  Wai,  yes,  I  got  tew,  three  in  here,"  patting 
the  pocket  of  his  striped  woolen  frock. 

"  Wai,"  the  old  man  said,  slipping  the  birds 
on  to  his  gun  and  shouldering  it,  "  I  s'pose  I  mus' 
be  a-moggin'.  Do'  know  haow  I  'm  goin'  tu  make 
up  ter  ye  for  findin'  my  pa'tridge,  erless  I  go  'long 
wi'  ye  some  day  an'  show  ye  haow  tu  hunt  pa' 
tridge." 

"  That  '11  jest  du  it,"  said  Sam  heartily. 
"  Some  cool  day,  t'  rights,  'fore  they  git  wild  wi' 
the  fallin'  leaves,  we  '11  go.  I  want  tu  see  ye  kill 
tew  't  a  shot." 


GE ANOTHER    HILUS   PATEIDGE.  29 

And  so  they  parted,  each  going  his  way,  the 
young  man  skirting  the  woods,  the  old  man  home 
ward,  picking  his  way  across  Stony  Brook  with  a 
lighter  step  and  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  come 
with.  He  minded  nothing  of  the  hot,  droughty 
weather;  no  day  could  have  seemed  finer  than 
this  in  its  decline,  its  warm  air  laden  with  the 
odor  of  the  firs,  and  the  "  cheop  "  of  the  crickets 
beginning  to  thrill  through  it,  while  the  purple  of 
the  asters  grew  darker  in  the  blurred,  lengthening 
shadows.  As  he  crossed  the  pasture  he  began  to 
whistle  toothlessly,  "  We  're  marching  onward 
toward  Quebec,"  and  his  rheumatic  footsteps  fell 
to  the  time  of  the  old  martial  air. 

Then  he  saw  his  grandson  running  to  meet 
him. 

"  Oh,  gran'ther ! "  cried  the  boy  breathlessly, 
as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  tbe  old  man's  swinging 
burden,  "  ye  got  one,  did  n't  ye  ?  "  and  then  as  he 
walked  puffing  and  eager-eyed  alongside,  "Tew 
on  'em !  Oh,  my  sakes,  tew !  I  never  hearn  ye 
shoot  but  oncte.  You  never  killed  'em  both  tu 
one  shot,  gran'ther?  " 

"  Sho,  bub,  that  hain't  nothin'  for  a  man  'at 
onderstan's  it,"  said  his  grandfather  lightly. 

"  Oh,  gran'ther !  you  c'n  jest  beat  'em  all,  you 
can.  Say,  gran'ther,  le'  me  kerry  'em,  won't  ye  ? 
Gran'ther,  say  ?  "  the  boy  pleaded. 

"  Jullook  a-here,  bub,"  said  the  old  man,  sink 


30  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

ing  his  voice  to  a  husky  undertone,  "  you  le'  me 
kerry  'em,  an'  I  '11  let  ye  shoot  the  gun  tu  a  mark 
right  naow!  Hey?" 

"  Oh,  my  sakes  !     Will  ye,  naow,  t'-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  will.  You  go  an'  set  that  aire 
busted  cap  ag'in  the  fence,  ten  rod  off,  an'  come 
back  here  an'  rest  crost  this  'ere  stump  an'  let  'er 
hev!" 

Away  the  boy  ran,  never  minding  a  stubbed 
toe  or  a  heelful  of  thistles  that  waylaid  his  course, 
and,  setting  the  broken  fence-cap  against  a  rail, 
came  panting  back. 

"  Git  ye  breath  fust,"  Gran'ther  Hill  said,  as 
the  boy  reached  eagerly  for  the  gun,  which  the 
old  man  took  slowly  from  his  shoulder,  depressing 
the  muzzle  till  the  partridges  slipped  to  the  ground. 
"  Ye  could  n't  hit  a  barn-door  tew  rod  off  whilst 
ye  're  a-puffin'  that  way.  Naow,"  as  the  boy's 
breathing  became  regular  through  hard  restraint, 
and  he  gave  the  gun  into  his  hands,  "  p'int  be 
low  the  mark,  an'  raise  her  up  slow,  an'  when  ye 
git  aimed  atween  the  tew  holes,  onhitch !  " 

Kneeling  and  resting  the  long  barrel  across  the 
stump,  the  boy  slowly  elevated  the  muzzle  till  it 
hid  the  lower  auger  hole,  and  then  pulled  with 
might  and  main,  shutting  both  eyes  in  expectation 
of  the  flash  and  **ecoil,  but  neither  came. 

"  I  can't  p^iil  her  off,"  he  whined,  in  half -tear 
ful  disappointment. 


GEAN'THEE    HILL'S    PATEIVGE.  31 

"Ye  can't  pull  her  off  when  she  hain't  on'y 
half  cocked,  ye  gump !  "  said  the  old  man  im 
patiently,  and  reaching  out  he  pulled  the  heavy 
hammer  to  full  cock.  "  There,  naow,  when  ye 
pull  the  tricker,  I  guess  ye  '11  hear  from  her !  " 

Again  the  boy  essayed,  pulled  manfully  at  just 
the  right  moment,  and  there  was  a  shower  of 
sparks,  a  blinding  flash  of  ignited  priming,  a  deaf 
ening  roar,  and  with  it  a  kick  that  tumbled  the 
young  marksman  on  to  his  haunches. 

"  You  hit  it !  "  the  old  man  cried,  "  I  seen  the 
splinters  fly !  Naow  run  over  V  fetch  the  cap 
here." 

The  boy  made  all  haste  to  get  upon  his  feet, 
and  ran  wildly  over  to  the  fence,  rubbing,  as  he 
ran,  his  shoulder,  that  ached  with  a  more  univer 
sal  pang  than  his  tooth  had  done.  But  it  was  a 
delightful  pain,  and  borne  with  a  triumphant 
smile  when  he  saw  the  weather-worn  surface  of 
the  wood  brightened  with  fresh  splinters  and 
punctured  with  a  half  dozen  dark  holes,  and  as 
many  half -embedded  shot  staring  at  him  as  if  in 
astonishment  at  his  skill. 

"  Ye  done  well,  bub,  so  ye  did !  "  said  his 
grandfather,  when  the  target  was  brought  to  him 
and  inspected.  "  She  scattered  more  'n  she  did 
when  I  shot  the  pa'tridge,  but  I  s'pose  I  got  in  a 
leetle  tew  much  paowder  ;  but  you  done  almighty 
well." 


32  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

So  they  went  home,  the  one  as  proud  as  the 
other,  the  old  man  with  his  birds,  the  boy  with 
his  target,  he  running  ahead  to  proclaim  the 
wonderful  achievements  of  the  twain.  It  was  a 
pleasure  added  to  the  old  man's  triumph,  another 
reward  of  his  afternoon's  outing,  to  see  the  de 
parting  form  of  Mrs.  Purington  waddling  home 
ward  along  the  highway. 

The  two  were  welcomed  with  all  the  honors 
they  could  desire  ;  even  Mrs.  Hill  came  forth  from 
her  bedroom  to  view  the  trophies,  and  the  young 
sters  home  from  school  were  dumb  with  admira 
tion  of  the  feats  of  their  grandfather  and  brother. 
Gran'ther  Hill  recounted  all  the  details  of  his 
afternoon's  adventure,  and  ended  by  saying :  — 

" 1  don't  b'lieve  I  'd  ha'  faound  one  of  'em  'f  't 
had  n't  ben  for  that  aire  long-laiged  Sam  Lovel ;  " 
and  Joseph,  picking  the  birds,  unmarked  but  by 
the  bullet  holes  in  their  necks,  remarked  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes  that  no  one  saw :  — 

"  I  don't  scarcely  b'lieve  ye  would,  father ; 
don't  seem  's  'ough  ye  would." 


CHAPTER  II. 

TWO    KETURNING   PILGRIMS. 

A  HOMESICKNESS,  that  time  could  not  cure  nor 
alleviate,  became  so  insufferable  to  Elisha  Peggs 
and  Jerusha  his  wife  that,  after  enduring  it  for 
three  years,  they  bade  farewell  to  their  son  and 
daughter-in-law  and  to  the  grandchildren  who  had 
been  the  strongest  tie  to  hold  them  to  their  uncon 
genial  Western  home,  and  set  forth  on  the  long 
journey  to  their  native  town  of  Danvis. 

At  first  they  voyaged  on  the  Great  Lakes,  be 
set  with  the  alarms  and  qualms  that  would  attend 
such  old  inland-bred  folks,  then  with  greater  com 
fort  on  the  Erie  and  Champlain  Canals.  Their 
journey  on  the  canal  packet  brought  them  fre 
quently  into  a  stir  of  busy  life,  wonderful  and  be 
wildering  to  their  unworldly  wisdom.  It  often  had 
a  pungent  flavor  of  trivial  incident  and  accident 
not  always  pleasant  in  present  experience,  yet  al 
ways  accounted  of  future  value  in  the  story  to  be 
told  to  the  untraveled  home  folks  whom  they  were 
soon  to  meet.  At  intervals,  they  made  brief  pas 
sage  through  commercial  towns  whose  stir  and 
bustle  of  traffic  set  their  quiet  brains  in  a  whirl. 


34  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

and  rang  in  their  ears  long  after  their  boat  was 
again  gliding  through  the  quietude  of  farms  and 
woodlands. 

Now,  they  were  voyaging  more  pleasantly,  be 
yond  the  turmoil  of  towns,  the  bickerings  of 
rough-mannered  boatmen,  the  shrill  imprecations 
of  impish  drivers,  and  the  pain  of  seeing  jaded 
horses  always  before  them  on  the  tow  path,  to 
whose  toil  they  were  adding  a  moiety  of  burden. 
A  lively  and  industrious  little  steamer  that  never 
gave  sign  of  weariness  was  now  towing  their  long 
narrow  canal  packet  out  of  the  marshy  windings 
of  Lake  Champlain's  upper  channel  into  widen 
ing  waters.  A  restful  home  feeling  began  to 
come  upon  them  with  a  sense  of  proprietorship  in 
the  landscape.  For  here  on  their  right  hand  lay 
their  own  beloved  Vermont,  with  its  eternal 
mountains  and  its  homesteads  grown  gray  in  the 
possession  of  generations  of  one  name.  There 
were  bawling  teamsters  with  plodding  oxen  plow 
ing  snugly  fenced  fields,  Morgan  horses  trotting 
along  the  highways,  and  flocks  of  merino  sheep 
dotting  the  tawny  pastures  with  flecks  of  umber 
and  streaking  them  with  devious  lines  of  pathway 
often  tending  toward  gnawed  and  nibbled  stacks 
that  looked  like  immense  mushrooms  growing  in 
the  dun  fall  fed  meadows.  Such  familiar  scenes, 
thinly  veiled  in  the  ethereal  web  of  an  Indian 
Summer  day,  gladdened  their  homesick  hearts  as 
they  sat  on  the  deck. 


TWO  RETURNING  PILGRIMS.  35 

The  tide  of  travel  was  setting  westward,  and 
in  its  feeble  backflow  this  old  couple  found  them 
selves  with  but  few  companions,  and  these  not 
very  congenial  ones. 

The  captain  was  courteous  in  his  way  to  these 
old-fashioned  folk,  but  was  more  drawn  to  con 
versation  with  his  younger  passengers,  and  his 
sole  male  assistant  was  a  surly  fellow  who  sulked 
at  his  post  and  received  questions  as  if  they  were 
personal  affronts,  while  he  ground  huge  quids  of 
tobacco  as  if  they  were  the  hearts  of  his  enemies, 
and  his  enemies  all  mankind.  The  stewardess 
and  the  cook,  who  composed  the  female  portion  of 
the  boat's  company,  were  reticent  concerning  their 
own  affairs  and  not  much  interested  in  Aunt  Je- 
rusha's  history,  which  she  freely  imparted  to  each 
of  them.  So  the  two  old  people  consorted  mostly 
together,  she  taking  in  all  the  sights  as  they  sat 
on  deck,  while  she  industriously  knitted  a  blue 
woolen  stocking,  and  he  lounging  near  her  in  en 
forced  idleness,  wishing  he  was  on  his  familiar, 
leather-bottomed  shoe-bench,  tapping  a  boot  or 
closing  up  a  seam  with  a  waxed  end. 

Most  of  their  fellow-passengers  were  returning 
from  spying  out  the  land  of  promise,  to  sell  their 
gear  at  any  price,  and  remove  their  families  to 
the  region  of  unlimited  possibilities,  which  they 
were  continually  vaunting,  while  the  impossibili 
ties,  except  in  the  direction  of  poverty,  of  their 


36  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

New  England  birthright,  were  as  continually  set 
forth,  to  the  disgust  of  Uncle  Lisha's  loyal  Yan 
kee  soul. 

44  It 's  a  dirty  bird  'at  faouls  his  own  nest,"  was 
his  reply,  to  their  disparagement  of  his  beloved 
stony  soil.  u  I  druther  hev  the  leetle  chunk  o* 
V'mont  sile  'at 's  goin'  tu  kiver  my  ol'  bones  'n 
tu  hev  the  hull  splatteration  o'  yer  West." 

"There  ain't  room  enough  'mongst  your  hills 
to  lay  you  down  level,"  said  a  dapper  little  man 
who  was  the  acknowledged  wit  of  the  company. 

44  Wai,  then,  let  'em  stan'  me  up  in  a  post-hole. 
i  druther  hev  the  top  on  't  'an  a  hull  perary. 
Don't  you  tell  me  baout  your  fever  'n'  aguy,  flat- 
ted-aout,  humsick  West.  I  ben  there.  Go  tu 
that  diunbd  pancake  of  a  country  'f  you  wanter, 
but  le'  me  stay  nigher  tu  God  ainighty's  maoun- 
tains." 

44 1  never  see  sech  a  harnsome  country,"  de 
clared  one  enthusiastic  pilgrim.  "  Why,  I  rid  more 
'n  a  hundred  mild  an'  never  see  one  hill  higher  'n 
a  haystack.  An'  sech  crops  o'  corn  an'  wheat ! 
More  on  one  acre  'n  you  c'n  git  on  five  here." 

44  Honh,"  Uncle  Lisha  snorted  contemptuously. 
44  As  ef  it  was  a  vartu  in  a  country  to  be  so  flat, 
water  do'  know  which  way  tu  run.  Blast  the 
crops,  the'  ha'  no  heart  in  'em  'f  they  be  big.  I 
druther  hev  a  peck  o'  Dutton  corn,  yis,  er  Tucket, 
than  a  bushel  o'  their  hoss-tooth  corn,  wi'  no  more 


TWO  RETURNING  PILGRIMS.  37 

taste  in  't  'n  moonshine.  I  tell  ye,  the'  's  one  crop 
raised  'mongst  these  maountains  't  can't  be  beat, 
?n  that 's  stiddy,  ol'-fashioned,  hum-bidin'  men  an' 
women.  Not  but  what  the'  's  lots  o'  clever,  free 
hearted  folks  aout  West,  but  they  're  in  such  a 
tarnal  hurry  it  makes  me  tired,  an'  the  everlastin' 
flatness  makes  me  humsick." 

There  was  also  a  land  speculator,  in  shabby 
clothes  and  a  pervading  un cleanliness,  with  a  port 
folio  of  plans  of  unbuilt  cities,  which  he  persist 
ently  spread  before  every  eye  that  would  follow 
his  dirty,  talon-like  forefinger  as  it  pointed  out 
the  most  desirable  lots  and  traced  the  lines  of 
traffic  that  were  surely  to  be  established.  "  I  '11 
guarantee  to  make  any  man  rich,  yes,  sir,  forty 
men  rich,  if  they  '11  follow  my  advice  and  buy  as 
I  tell  'em." 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,"  cried  Uncle  Lisha,  re 
turning  his  spectacles  to  their  steel  case  and  shut 
ting  it  with  a  spiteful  snap  after  a  brief  inspec 
tion  of  the  maps.  "  Ef  I  hed  sech  a  chance  tu 
make  other  folks  rich,  I  7d  try  it  on  myself  fust, 
an'  ef  it  worked,  I  'd  buy  me  some  store  clo's  an' 
a  hunk  o'  soap  ;  "  and  thereafter  the  land  specu 
lator  was  silent  in  the  old  man's  presence. 

Presently  the  hoary  ruins  of  Ticonderoga  con 
fronted  them  on  the  western  shore,  and  it  was  as 
if  its  self-vaunted  hero,  Gran'ther  Hill,  had  come 
to  welcome  them  to  the  dismantled  fortress.  Then 


38  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

Chimney  Point  and  Fort  St.  Frederic's  shattered 
walls  swung  apart  before  them,  and  they  passed 
into  the  broad  expanse  of  calm  blue  water  that 
between  pleasant  shores  stretched  far  away  into 
the  pearly  haze,  where  rock-anchored,  purple  islets 
and  white  sails  of  laggard  craft  hung  alike 
moveless  on  the  undefined  verge  of  lake  and  sky. 
Then  far  away  to  the  northeast,  silently  welcom 
ing  them,  in  ghostly  grandeur  the  landmarks  of 
their  State,  Mansfield  and  Camel's  Hump,  tow 
ered  through  the  film  of  haze  ;  and  what  warmed 
their  hearts  still  more,  the  lesser  peak  of  their 
own  Danvis  mountain,  in  whose  shadow  they  had 
dwelt  so  many  years. 

How  impatient  they  were  to  be  there  again,  yet 
dreading  the  changes  that  time,  in  a  little  space, 
might  have  wrought,  and  conjecturing  no  end  of 
obstacles  that  might  still  interpose  to  hinder  their 
safe  return.  It  was  weeks  since  they  had  heard 
from  the  old  home,  for  the  East  and  West  were 
far  asunder  in  those  days  of  half  a  century  ago, 
and  evil  as  well  as  good  tidings  passed  slowly 
from  one  to  the  other. 

Flocks  of  wild  fowl  arose  reluctantly  from  the 
glassy  surface  of  the  lake  at  the  steamer's  ap 
proach,  settling  again  still  further  on  ;  or,  making 
curved  detours,  alighted  so  close  astern  that  their 
distorted  doubles  came  crinkling  across  the  fur 
rows  of  the  wake  to  mingle  with  the  broken  re- 


TWO  RETURNING  PILGRIMS.  39 

flection  of  the  canal-boat's  painted  side.  The 
lazy  cawing  of  crows  came  floating  in  softened 
cadence  from  the  gray  woods  where  they  lingered, 
loth  to  journey  from  a  land  so  steeped  in  mellow 
sunshine.  A  hound's  sonorous  baying,  swelling 
and  falling  among  the  wooded  low  hills,  reminded 
the  old  man  of  his  hunter  friend,  Sam  Lovel, 
and,  through  him,  of  all  Danvis  friends  and 
neighbors. 

"  It  's  hopesin'  they  're  all  well  and  hearty," 
was  his  fervent  prayer. 

Now  the  ragged  escarpments  of  Split  Rock 
Mountain  began  to  respond  with  sharper,  quicker 
echoes  than  the  low  shores  had  given  to  the  regu 
lar,  tireless  pant  of  the  steamer.  The  sun  was 
low  in  the  west,  and  they  beheld  the  miracle  of 
rapidly  recurring  sunsets  as  the  red,  rayless  disc 
sank  from  view  behind  the  bristling  silhouette  of 
a  pinnacled  peak,  then  emerged  in  the  rugged 
scoop  of  a  gorge,  then  sank  and  rose  again,  till  at 
last  their  long  weariness  of  prairie  life  was  re 
freshed  with  the  abiding  and  deepening  shadows 
of  the  mountain. 

Making  a  wide  sweep  toward  the  eastern  shore, 
where  the  sunset  still  glowed  on  hills  and  tree- 
tops,  the  steamer  presently  dragged  her  inert  con 
sort  on  to  the  fading  flush  that  lay  like  a  motion 
less  sheet  of  flame  on  the  tranquil  breast  of  the 
Otter,  till  her  wake  set  it  flickering  and  palpitat- 


40  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

ing  in  long,  undulating  lines,  that  were  buffeted 
back  from  the  shores  in  myriad  scintillations ; 
while  like  quenched  brands,  the  black,  broken  re 
flections  of  tree-trunks  were  tossed  on  the  slow 
waves.  On  the  right  bank  of  the  low  promon 
tory  at  the  river's  mouth  was  a  barrack-like  stone 
tavern  for  the  accommodation  of  steamboat  trav 
elers,  and  in  front  of  it,  along  the  rocky  verge  of 
the  lake,  ran  the  grass-grown  zigzag  of  a  low  ram 
part.  The  sight  of  this  warmed  Elisha's  heart 
with  patriotic  fire,  for  here,  in  the  last  war  with 
England,  he  had  witnessed  the  gallant  defense 
that  saved  McDonough's  warships,  then  lying  in 
the  river,  from  destruction  by  a  fleet  of  British 
gunboats,  and  made  possible  the  grand  achieve 
ment  which  swept  the  British  armament  from  the 
lake. 

"  The  milishy  was  all  called  aout  that  time," 
said  he,  "  me  'mongst  the  rest,  though  I  hed  n't 
no  gret  stomerk  fur  fightin'.  I  wa'n't  ezackly  here  ; 
my  comp'ny  was  posted  over  north  tu  Hawley's, 
kinder  watchin'  daown  the  lake  fur  the  British. 
We  seen  'em  comin'  'way  beyund  Split  Rock,  a 
hull  snarl  o'  bla«k  gunboats  an'  some  sloops  an'  a 
big  brig,  I  guess  they  called  it,  wi'  sails  a-loomin' 
up  like  meetin'-haousen,  an'  we  gin  the  'larm  tu  the 
sailors  an'  artillery  fellers  over  here.  An'  bime- 
by  the  gunboats  come  a-creepin'  up  julluk  black 
snakes,  an'  they  begin  firin'  th'  cannerns  at  the 


TWO  EETUENING  PILGRIMS.  41 

leetle  fort,  an*  oncte,  a  ball  hit  that  aire  ellum- 
tree  right  on  the  eend  o'  the  p'int  an'  took  a  chunk 
right  off  'm  one  side,  you  c'n  see  the  scar  naow. 
The  leetle  fort,  Fort  Cassin,  they  called  it,  fur  the 
lef  tenant  commandin'  on  't,  gin  em  as  good  as  they 
sent,  an'  the  cannern  thunderin'  an'  the  echoes 
rumblin'  an'  baoundin'  back  an'  tu,  made  a  n'ise 
like  twenty  Fo'th  o'  Julys  rolled  intu  one.  We 
e'ld  see  pooty  nigh  the  hull  caboodle  on  't  f'm 
where  we  was  over  t'  other  side  the  bay,  an'  bime- 
by  we  seen  the  gunboats  a-crawlin'  off,  clean  licked 
aout,  tu  where  the  ol'  he  boat  was  stan'in'  off  jul- 
luk  a  henhawk  sailin'  over  a  barnyard,  an'  then 
they  all  put  off  down  the  lake  V  aout  o'  sight.  I 
tell  you  we  hoorayed  when  we  seen  'em  a-clearin' 
aout,  fur  we  was  jest  as  tickled  as  if  we  'd  helped 
lick  'em,  I  don't  know  but  tickleder,  an'  we 
knowed  'at  McDonner's  ships  was  safe  ag'in. 
Nex'  day  they  was  aout  in  the  lake,  a  pooty  sight 
tu  see,  an'  ready  tu  lick  anythin'  that  come  afore 
'em,  an'  off  they  went  north,  an'  hum  went  we, 
an'  wa'n't  bothered  wi'  no  more  sojerin'  till  we 
went  hurryin'  off  tu  Plattsburgh  fight." 

His  wife  had  heard  the  story  scores  of  times, 
but  never  with  so  much  interest  as  now  when  the 
scene  lay  close  before  her,  yet  it  was  set  in  such 
serenity  of  peace  that  she  could  scarcely  imagine 
it  disturbed  by  the  turmoil  of  battle.  A  little 
girl  stood  on  the  grass-grown  rampart,  watching 


42  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

the  passing  boats,  and  from  open  windows  of  the 
barrack-like  stone  inn  caine  the  merry  notes  of  a 
fiddle  and  the  romping  footfalls  of  a  dancing- 
party,  so  early  entered  upon  a  night  of  untiring 
gayety. 

The  passengers  gathered  about  the  narrator  in 
an  attentive  group. 

"  Wai,  1  want  er  know,"  said  one,  looking 
with  awakened  interest  on  the  ruins  that  before 
had  appeared  so  insignificant,  "  so  they  raly  fit 
right  here.  You  don't  say." 

"  It  don't  look  much  like  it  now,"  said  another, 
"  so  kinder  peaceful  like,  an'  a  fiddle  a-goin'  jes' 
's  if  nothin'  hed  n't  never  happened.  Diff'ent 
music  then,  I  guess  the'  was.  I  'd  ruther  be 
shakin'  my  hummels  tu  this  sort  of  a  jig." 

"  Wai,  bein'  'at  you  sorter  fit  fer  V'mont," 
said  one  who  had  most  glorified  the  West,  "  I 
don't  wonder  'at  you  be  kinder  praoud  of  her  sile. 
I  guess  I  'd  be." 

"  I  did  fight  fer  her  in  arnest,  tu  Plattsburgh," 
said  the  old  man  proudly,  "  an'  seen  British  reg'- 
lars  runnin'  away  f 'm  V'mont  milishy.  The'  was 
a  snarl  on  us,  more  'n  the'  was  o'  Yorkers,  though 
it  was  on  their  sile.  I  wisht  then  'at  I  was  tu 
hum,  but  I  ben  glad  ever  sence  'at  I  was  there, 
duin'  what  I  could,  in  my  feeble  way." 

"  I  p'sume  to  say  that 's  the  way  folks  gen 'ally 
feels,  erless  they  get  licked  er  killed.  Proberbly 


TWO  RETURNING  PILGRIMS.  43 

that  makes  a  diff'unce  in  the'  feelin's,"  the  first 
speaker  remarked  and  there  was  a  general  assent. 

Presently,  sight  of  the  place  and  then  its  jolly 
sounds  were  shut  out  by  a  wooded  bend  of  the 
river  as  the  steamer  steadily  plowed  her  way  up 
the  slow  current.  The  south  wind  was  rising 
with  premonitory  sighs  among  the  leafless  button- 
woods,  whose  huge  ghostly  trunks  lined  the 
banks,  and  Jerusha  was  thankful  that  their  craft 
would  make  the  remainder  of  her  voyage  in  such 
safe  and  narrow  waters. 

Night  was  falling,  and  the  steamer  briefly 
parted  the  thickening  shadows  with  the  glimmer 
of  her  lanterns  and  stirred  the  quiet  of  the  shores 
with  her  regular  panting  and  its  vibrating  echoes. 
After  a  time  there  was  heard  through  these  the 
continuous  monotone  of  the  great  cataract  which 
would  presently  bar  their  further  voyaging.  Its 
incessant  thunder,  rolling  in  swelling  volume 
down  the  winding  lane  of  water,  came  to  them 
now,  a  pleasant  sound  of  welcome,  not  the  sad 
voice  of  farewell  that  three  years  ago  had  lin 
gered  in  their  ears  with  solemn,  dying  cadence, 
long  after  the  forms  of  friends  had  faded  from 
their  sight.  At  the  Falls,  some  of  those  friends, 
long  since  apprised  of  their  coming,  would  now 
be  awaiting  them,  and  the  boat  surging  steadily 
onward,  up  the  dark  channel,  went  more  slowly 
than  their  hearts,  to  meet  them. 


44  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

At  length  the  lights  of  the  town  shone  down 
from  the  hill,  and  beacon  lanterns  on  the  wharves 
glittered  across  the  black  eddies  and  white  foam- 
streaks,  and  then,  amid  much  confusion  and 
shouting  of  orders  from  steamer,  canal-boat,  and 
shore,  the  packet  was  got  into  her  dock. 

The  two  old  people  eagerly  scanned  the  illumi 
nated  group  of  bustlers  and  idlers  for  some 
friendly  face.  Over  and  over  all  the  faces  their 
eyes  went  again  and  again,  but  found  not  a  fa 
miliar  one  nor  one  that  brightened  at  sight  of 
their  own. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,"  cried  the  old  man  in 
sorrow  and  vexation,  "  hain't  the'  one  on  'em  'at 
cared  'nough  'baout  us  tu  come  so  fur  tu  meet 
us  ?  I  wisht  I  was  back  in  Westconstant,  I  du." 

"Oh,  father,  you  don't  nuther,"  said  Aunt 
Jerusha,  ready  to  cry  with  disappointment,  her 
self.  "  They  hain't  never  got  aour  letter,  I  know 
they  hain't." 

"  Mebby,"  he  admitted,  "  but  I  don't  see  haow 
they  c'd  help  gettin'  on  't.  I  toF  the  post-office 
feller  tu  send  it  right  stret  along." 

"  They  hain't  never  got  it,"  she  reiterated,  "  fur 
'£  they  hed,  Samwill  er  some  on  'em  would  ha' 
ben  here.  An'  who  knows  but  what  they  're  all 
sick  er  suthin,"  she  suggested. 

"  Sho,  't  aint  no  ways  likely  't  they  be,  the  hull 
caboodle  on  'em  all  tu  oncte,"  he  answered. 


TWO  RETURNING  PILGRIMS.  45 


"  Wai,  anyways,  the'  hain't  no  use  o'  s'misin'  er 
tewin' ;  we  '11  git  there  some  way,  tu-morrer.  Le' 
me  see,  hain't  tu-morrer  Tuesday?  An'  that's 
the  day  the  mail  goes  tu  Danvis,  an'  we  c'n 
gwup  in  the  mail  wagin  ef  the'  hain't  no  other 
way  turns  up.  Come,  le'  's  go  'n'  git  ontu  aour 
shelves  oncte  more  an'  go  tu  sleep.  It  mus'  be 
as  much  as  ha'-past  eight." 

So  saying  he  turned  to  lead  the  way  below, 
casting  as  he  went  a  last  look  on  the  group  still 
lingering  about  the  wharf.  The  change  of  posi 
tion  brought  into  view  a  figure  which  before  had 
not  caught  his  eye,  but  now  suddenly  arrested  and 
held  it.  It  was  a  man  rotund  of  form  and  feat 
ure,  who,  in  the  background,  leaned  against  the 
side  of  a  storehouse,  while  he  turned  his  slow, 
wondering  gaze,  now  on  the  steamer,  shrilly  sing 
ing  herself  to  sleep  in  her  berth,  now  on  the  al 
most  deserted  packet.  Uncle  Lisha  stood  still  a 
moment,  then  caught  his  wife's  arm  with  one 
hand  while  with  the  other  he  pointed  to  the 
newly  revealed  figure. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  Jerushy,  ef  there  hain't 
Jozeff  Hill,"  he  cried  joyfully ;  and  in  the  next 
breath  roared  so  loudly  that  all  eyes  were  turned 
toward  him,  "  Jozeff,  Jozeff  Hill,  come  here ! " 
while  Aunt  Jerusha,  too  shaken  with  surprise 
and  joy  to  speak,  could  only  beckon  frantically. 

Hearing  his  name  called,  Joseph  Hill  stepped 


46  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

hesitatingly  forward  a  little,  then  stared  about 
him  on  either  hand  and  behind,  till  at  last,  with 
dawning  recognition,  he  became  aware  of  the  two 
figures  on  the  canal-boat  and  quickened  his  steps. 
"  Why,  ef  't  hain't,  —  no  't  hain't  nuther,  —  yis, 
't  is  tuther,  Sam  Hill !  Uncle  Lisher  an'  Aunt 
Jerushy !  "  he  said  in  bewildered  joy,  and  then 
was  shaking  hands  with  both  old  friends  at  once 
across  the  low  gunwale  of  the  boat. 

"  Git  aboard,  git  aboard,"  cried  Uncle  Lisha, 
changing  the  hand-shaking  to  a  lusty  pull,  "  an' 
then  we  c'n  be  kinder  socierble." 

"Wai,  no,"  said  Joseph,  carefully  examin 
ing  the  narrow  space  between  the  boat  and  the 
wharf,  " guess  I  don't  need  no  board;  seem's 
'ough  I  eld  step  right  on  t'  the  boat.  It  won't 
tip,  will  it  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  stepped  carefully  on 
deck.  "An'  naow,  where  did  you  come  from. 
an'  why  did  n't  you  seddaown  an'  write  you  was 
comin'  'fore  you  started,  so  's  't  some  on  us  could 
ha'  met  you,  hey  ?  " 

"  Why,  hain't  you  met  us,  Jozeff  ?  Wai,  what 
more 's  wantin'  ?  But  you  don't  say  Samwil] 
never  got  nary  letter  ?  " 

"  Nary  letter,  that  is  tu  say,  not  'thin  tew. 
three  mont's  ;  I  d'  know,  mebby  't  ain't  more  'n 
tew  inont's,  an'  it 's  on'y  jest  a  happen-so  'at  I  'm 
here.  I  come  daown  wi'  a  Ihud  o'  sawed  spreuce 
shingle  fer  Morrison,  an'  's  long  's  I  hed  tu  stay 


TWO  BETUBNING  PILGBIMS.  47 

over  night  and  hedn't  nothin'  tu  du,  thet  is, 
nothin'  pertic'lar,  I  thought  I  'd  come  daown  an' 
kinder  see  the  shippin'  an'  things.  No  more  idee 
o'  seein'  you  'an  I  hed  o'  seein'  —  wal,  Noer  an' 
his  wife  on  the  ark,  I  don't  b'lieve  I  hed.  But 
I  'm  gladder  tu  see  you  'n  I  would  them,  a  dumb 
sight.  An'  naow  'f  you  c'ld  ride  on  a  hay-riggin', 
I've  got  buffalos  an'  blankits,  I  c'n  take  you 
right  hum,  tu-morrer." 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  we  c'ld  ride  on  a  stun- 
boat  'at  was  goin'  tu  Danvis,  an'  glad  o'  the 
chance.  But  le'  's  go  daown  int'  the  cabin  where 
it 's  more  comfortabler." 

"  Why,  yis,"  Joseph  assented,  "  'f  you  'd  ruther 
go  daown  suller  'n  tu  stay  on  the  ruff,  I  'd  jest 
's  livs,  I  do'  know  but  I  hed,  though  I  du  kinder 
spleen  agin  gittin'  nigher  the  water.  I  got  sunk 
in  a  ol'  she  boat  oncte,  clear  the  hull  len'th  o'  my 
laigs." 

"Where  on  airth  did  you  find  water  deep 
enough?  "  Uncle  Lisha  asked  with  a  chuckle  as 
he  glanced  at  his  friend's  short  nether  limbs  and 
led  the  way  into  the  cabin.  The  strange  interior, 
with  its  tier  of  berths,  its  many  chairs,  and  its 
long  vista  of  carpeted  floor,  filled  Joseph  with 
astonishment. 

"An'  haow  be  you?"  he  inquired  when  he 
regained  coherent  speech.  "  Do'  know  but  I  ast 
you,  but  don't  seem 's  'ough  I  did.  Fact  on  't  is, 


48  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

meetin'  you  so  onexpected  put  me  all  abaout  so 
I  did  n't  scarcely  know  which  eend  iny  head  was 
on." 

They  in  their  turn  asked  him  much  faster  than 
he  in  his  slow,  undecided  way  could  well  answer, 
first,  concerning  the  welfare  of  every  friend  and 
neighbor,  and  then,  what  events,  public  and  pri 
vate,  had  lately  stirred  the  placid  current  of  Dan- 
vis  life.  So  they  sat  talking  for  an  hour,  when 
an  irrepressible  drowsiness  made  them  aware  it 
was  late  bedtime,  and  Joseph  arose  to  go.  Still 
talking  the  two  groped  their  way  to  the  deck, 
and  Uncle  Lisha  saw  him  safely  on  the  deserted 
wharf.  There  Joseph  lingered  to  repeat  his 
promise  to  come  for  them  with  his  wagon  "  jest 
as  soon  arter  breakfus  as  he  could  hitch  up,"  and 
then  plodded  away  to  his  lodgings. 

The  sounds  of  human  voices  and  footsteps  had 
dropped  out  of  the  night  and  the  continual  dull 
thunder  of  the  Falls  alone  pervaded  it  as  the  old 
voyagers  climbed  into  their  berths  for  the  last  time, 
and  presently  fell  into  a  more  restful  sleep  than 
had  come  to  them  for  many  a  night,  for  now  they 
were  almost  home,  and  assured  of  the  well-being 
ul  tiit/Lr 


CHAPTER  III. 

HOME   AGAIN. 

JOSEPH  HILL  must  have  had  a  late  breakfast 
and  been  a  long  time  harnessing  his  horses,  for 
the  morning  was  far  spent  when  he  made  his 
serene  appearance,  which  had  for  some  time  been 
heralded  as  with  the  rattle  of  drums  by  the  clat 
ter  of  his  hay  wagon. 

At  last  they  were  fairly  set  forth  on  the  final 
stage  of  their  journey.  The  little  city  was  behind 
them,  the  roar  of  the  cataract  becoming  fainter 
and  fainter  on  their  ears,  and  before  them  arose, 
ever  a  little  nearer,  their  own  mountain,  towering 
into  the  drift  of  clouds.  The  gusty  south  wind 
blew  so  chilly  that  Uncle  Lisha  drew  his  bell- 
crowned  beaver  well  down  upon  his  ears  and  but 
toned  closer  his  many-caped  drab  surtout,  and 
Aunt  Jerusha,  muffled  in  a  melon  hood  and  blue 
camlet  cloak,  with  a  buffalo  skin  tucked  about 
her,  was  none  too  warm.  Withal  they  were  un 
mercifully  jolted,  tumbled  now  together,  now 
apart,  on  the  board  seat  which  they  often  could 
only  keep  by  hard  holding.  Yet  in  spite  of  any 
discomfort,  their  old  hearts  grew  lighter  with 


50  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

every  shortening  furlong  of  their  homeward  way. 
They  were  continually  shouting  inquiries  to  Jo 
seph  and  he  shouting  back  disjointed  answers 
above  the  din  of  the  wagon,  all  together  making 
an  uproar  of  voices  and  clatter  that  might  have 
alarmed  neighborhoods  less  accustomed  to  such 
sounds. 

They  were  impatient  of  every  delay;  when 
Joseph  would  halt  a  moment  to  pass  a  few  words 
with  some  teamster  that  they  met,  he  was  re 
minded  by  a  hint  that  the  day  was  waning. 
They  woidd  not  waste  time  in  stopping  to  eat 
lunch,  but  ate  as  they  bounced  along  the  rough 
road.  If  the  jolting  sometimes  cheated  the 
opened  jaws  of  an  expected,  gyrating  mouthful, 
these  old  people  partook  with  the  appetite  of 
children  of  the  good,  home -cooked  fare  that 
Maria  Hill  had  bountifully  provided  for  her  hus 
band's  refreshment. 

"These  'ere  fried  cakes  is  complete,"  Uncle 
Lisha  said,  as  he  captured  another  doughnut 
from  the  dodging  pail  and  gave  it  to  his  wife. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  regarding  it  with  benign  ap 
proval,  "  they  be  proper  good,  an'  Marier  twists 
'em  jest  as  she  useter.  Taste  better  'n  them 
raound  things  wi'  a  hole  in  the  middle  'at  some 
folks  makes ; "  and  Uncle  Lisha  understood  that 
their  son's  wife  was  as  good  as  named  by  this 
general  term. 


HOME  AGAIN.  51 

"  Them  was  invented  fer  folks  'at  goes  afoot 
tu  kerry  on  a  string  er  string  'em  on  a  fish  pole 
er  a  gun  berril,  an'  they  're  raal  handy,"  he  ex 
plained. 

"  I  don't  keer,"  she  answered,  "  I  don't  wanter 
be  a-tryin'  tu  stay  my  stomerk  wi'  holes.  Gi' 
me  solid  victuals." 

But  once  Uncle  Lisha  did  call  a  halt.  They 
had  satisfied  their  hunger  and  were  brushing  the 
crumbs  from  their  garments  when  they  entered 
the  hill  country,  where  a  cold  mountain  brook 
braided  the  strands  of  its  clear  current  along  the 
roadside,  frequently  crossing  from  one  to  the 
other  beneath  rude  wooden  bridges. 

"  Whoa,  Jozeff,"  he  shouted,  as  his  delighted 
gaze  returned  from  roving  up  evergreen  slopes 
and  climbing  rocky  peaks,  to  rest  upon  the  spark 
ling  water,  "  le'  me  git  aout.  It 's  three  year  sen* 
I  hed  a  drink  o'  what  you  might  call  water,  an' 
I  'm  drier  'n  a  graven  image.  Naow  I  'm  goin' 
tu  ha'  some."  As  he  spoke  he  clambered  down 
from  the  rear  of  the  wagon,  and  waddled  like  a 
thirsty  duck  to  the  brookside.  Carefully  setting 
his  hat  upon  a  stone  he  got  upon  his  hands  and 
knees  and  drank  long  and  eagerly  from  a  pebble- 
bottomed  pool,  while  the  bubbles  went  to  wreck 
upon  his  nose  and  sprinkled  his  face  with  un 
heeded  spray. 

"  Ah-h-h,"  he  sighed,  raising  himself  a  little  to 


52  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

regain  his  breath ;  "  that  squenches  me  clean  tu 
the  soles  o'  my  boots  ;  "  and  again  he  set  himself 
to  lessening  the  volume  of  the  brook.  "  Naow, 
Jerushy,"  said  he,  as  he  got  upon  his  feet  and 
wiped  his  face  with  the  ample  bandanna  that  he 
stowed  in  his  hat  crown,  "  gi'  me  the  kiver  o' 
that  tin  pail  an'  I  '11  treat  ye." 

He  passed  the  brimming  pail  cover  over  to  his 
wife,  while  Joseph,  casting  a  glance  down  stream, 
remarked  : 

"  Why,  Uncle  Lisher,  I  b'lieve  you  've  drinked 
the  brook  dry.  Seem 's  'ough  I  c'ld  see  the 
traouts  a-kickin'  on  the  gravel  daown  yender." 

"  Like  's  not,  Jozeff ;  I  had  a  thirst  'at  was 
wiith  ten  dollars  in  money,  an'  I  Ve  squenched  it. 
Why,  good  airth  an'  seas,  Jozeff,  what  they  call 
water  aout  West  is  wet,  an'  some  kind  o'  fish  live 
in  't,  an'  you  c'n  wash  you  in  't  arter  a  fashion, 
but  when  you  come  tu  drinkin'  on  't,  you  haf  tu 
make  it  intu  tea,  er  mix  it  wi'  whiskey,  —  but  it 
spiles  the  whiskey.  Wai,  le'  's  be  gittin'  along. 
I  'm  in  a  hurry  tu  git  hum,  an'  I  swan,  I  'm  a 
good  min'  tu  set  on  the  front  seat  so  's  tu  git 
there  quicker." 

They  were  nearing  their  own  township,  and 
the  landscape  was  becoming  more  and  more  fa 
miliar.  The  forlorn  aspect  of  the  naked  trees 
and  fields,  tawny  with  dead  grass  or  stubble  or 
black  with  furrows  of  fall  ploughing,  did  not  di 


HOME  AGAIN.  53 

minish  the  interest  of  the  travelers  in  every  fea 
ture  of  the  landscape,  for  unlike  Joseph,  who  had 
seen  it  all  so  lately  as  yesterday,  they  scanned 
eagerly  every  farm  and  homestead,  recognizing 
every  old  landmark  and  discovering  every 
change. 

"  That  ort  tu  be  the  Johns  place,"  said  the 
old  man  after  a  long  look  at  a  farmstead  that  had 
come  into  view ;  "  but  somehaow  it  don't  look 
nat'ral.  Why,  'f  Johns  hain't  ben  a-buildin'  on 
him  a  haouse.  Who  'd  ever  a  thought  o'  him 
duin'  that,  tighter  'n  the  bark  tu  a  tree,  an'  yit 
never  had  nothin'  tu  du  nothin'  with.  An'  'f  he 
hain't  ben  cuttin'  off  half  his  sugar-place,  the 
dumb  fool.  I  'd  never  thought  o'  Johns  duin' 
that." 

"  OF  Mr.  Johns  died  las'  year,  er  year  afore, 
mebby ;  I  d'  know,"  Joseph  explained,  speaking 
over  his  shoulder.  "Abner  heired  it  all,  an* 
he  's  cuttin'  consid'able  of  a  swath  with  the  oP 
man's  prop'ty." 

"  Ah-h-h,  that  'caounts  for  it,"  the  old  man 
said;  "most  allers  the  way.  OF  folks  pinchin' 
an'  savin'  for  young  folks  tu  squander.  So  poor 
ol'  Johns  is  dead.  You  don't  say.  Wai,  wal, 
an'  hed  tu  leave  all  his  savin's.  I  uster  shoe- 
make  fer  him,  an'  he  'd  allers  hev  his'n  an'  his 
wife's  an'  boy's  boots  an'  shoes  made  a  size  tew 
small  t'  save  hither." 


54  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"Naow  don't,  Lisher,"  his  wife  expostulated 
mildly ;  "  he 's  dead  an'  done  wi'  boots  an' 
shoes?' 

"  An'  I  hain't  no  daoubt  it 's  a  comfort  tu  him 
t"  git  red  o'  the  expense." 

"  Lisher  Peggs !  Hain't  you  'shamed  ?  Prob- 
erbly  he  's  a-wearin'  goold  shoes." 

"  Not  by  a  jugful !  Ketch  him  a-wearin'  aout 
goold  shoes  a-pluggin'  raound  the  streets  o'  the 
new  Jerrus'hum !  If  he 's  got  any  sech,  he  's  ker- 
ryin'  'em  'n  under  his  arm."  Willing  to  turn  the 
conversation,  he  exclaimed,  "  See  them  critters," 
pointing  to  a  long  straggling  flock  of  crows  that, 
close  above  the  tree-tops  of  the  Johns  sugar- 
place,  staggered  southward  in  slow,  laborious 
flight  against  the  buffeting  wind ;  "  but  nex' 
spring  they  '11  be  as  glad  as  we  be  tu  git  back 
here,  an'  gether  the  crow  tax  an'  pull  corn  an' 
raise  hob  an'  their  young  uns  an'  git  shot  at. 
An'  here  we  be  to  the  top  o'  the  Johns  Hill,  an' 
there  's  ol'  'Tater  HiU  an'  the  Hump,  julluk  ol' 
frien's  a-risin'  up  tu  welcome  us,  not  a  mite  al 
tered  nor  a  day  older  tu  look  at.  I  hope  there 
hain't  no  livin'  frien's  changed  no  more." 

At  the  thought  of  such  possibilities  a  shade  of 
sadness  touched  his  radiant  face.  "  The  Hump 's 
got  his  white  cap  on,"  pointing  to  the  snow- 
sheathed  helmet  of  the  majestic  mountain,  for  a 
moment  disclosed  by  a  rift  of  the  driving  clouds. 


HOME  AGAIN.  55 

" *  Time  your  'taters  was  dug,'  says  he.  An'  by 
thunder,  I  begin  tu  git  the  smell  o'  the  balsams 
an'  spreuces.  Good  airth  an'  seas,  I  c'ld  holler 
an'  I  c'ld  sing,  an'  I'm  a  dumb  good  minter," 
his  heavy  voice  increasing  to  a  roar  that  threat 
ened  something  alarming  if  it  should  rise  to 
greater  volume. 

"  Lisher  Peggs,  du  fer  land's  sake  behave. 
Folks  '11  think  you  're  bein'  brung  home  crazy." 

"  Let  'em  think,"  shouted  he ;  "  't  won't  hurt 
'em  none.  I  'm  goin'  tu.  Hooray !  Sing,  Je- 
rushy,  sing,  I  tell  you. 

"  '  Come,  Philander,  le'  's  be  a-marchin', 
Ev'ry  one  his  treu  love  a-sarchin' ; 
Chuse  your  treu  love,  now  or  never, 
See  that  you  don't  chuse  no  other. 
Fol  de  rol  de  fol  de  rol  de  day.'  " 

Aunt  Jerusha  could  not  forbear  adding  her 
quavering  voice  to  his  roaring  refrain,  and  then, 
with  tears  on  her  wrinkled  cheeks,  laughed  hys 
terically,  exclaiming,  "  What  tew  ol'  fools  we 
be." 

Joseph  laughed  in  enjoyment  of  their  exube 
rant  happiness  and  hummed  to  himself  a  bit  of 
the  old  song  with  some  intention  of  adding  his 
voice  if  they  should  strike  up  again.  Then  ur 
ging  on  his  horses  the  wagon  went  rattling  down 
the  long  hill  at  a  pace  that  jolted  all  the  tuneful 
ness  out  of  Lisha's  voice,  while  his  hat,  already 


56  DsiNVIS  FOLKS. 

shaken  down  to  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  threat 
ened  presently  to  quite  extinguish  his  utterance. 
Carefully  shoving  the  cherished  beaver  upward 
with  both  hands  till  he  regained  sight  of  his 
surroundings,  he  remarked  in  a  quieter  tone, 
44  There  's  the  Dan'l  Perkins  place  jest  as  it  was 
when  I  see  it  last." 

44  Why,  land  o'  Goshen,  so  it  is,"  cried  Aunt 
Jemsha;  "an'  Mis'  Perkins  has  got  her  milk 
things  aout  sunnin'  this  claoudy  day.  Raises 
sunflaower  seeds  to  feed  her  turkeys  on  jest 's  she 
allers  did.  See  what  a  sight  o'  stalks  in  the  gar- 
din.  They  must  ha'  looked  harnsome  when  they 
was  in  blow.  But  I  'd  leetle  ruther  feed  turkeys 
corn  for  me  t'  eat.  Ily  things  sunflaower  seeds  be. 
An'  there  's  the  turkeys  goin'  t'  rhust  on  the 
ridge  o'  the  ruff,  jest  as  c'ntented  's  if  day  arter 
t'-morrer  warn't  Thanksgivin'.  I  wish 't  Mis' 
Perkins  er  him  'd  come  aou'-door,  I  du  hanker  so 
tu  see  someb'dy  't  I  know.  But  there  's  the  ol' 
yaller  dawg ; "  as  a  stiff-legged  old  dog  came 
waddling  down  the  footpath  toward  the  road, 
asthmatically  and  mechanically  performing  his 
self-appointed  duty  of  barking  at  every  passing 
team ;  having  accomplished  which,  he  waddled 
back  to  the  house,  congratulating  himself  with 
labored  wags  of  his  rigid  tail.  44 1  c'n  see  faces 
in  the  winders,  but  I  can't  tell  'em.  Why  on 
airth  don't  some  on  'em  come  aou'-door?  But 


HOME  AGAIN.  57 

I  s'pose  they  don't  know  who  we  be !  "  sighed 
Aunt  Jerusha,  again  looking  forward,  after  pain 
fully  twisting  her  neck  to  keep  the  house  longer 
in  view. 

"  Tew  more  hills  an'  you  '11  see  hausen  and 
folks  'nough  't  you  know,"  said  her  husband 
cheerfully,  "  ef  't  ain't  got  tu  be  tew  dark  by 
then.  An'  there  's  a  hoss,  colored  and  gaited 
kinder  famil'ar,"  he  continued,  while  his  eyes  be 
came  fixed  on  a  sleek,  black  horse  that  was  soberly 
coming  down  the  hill  which  they  were  ascending. 
"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  Jerushy,  it  's  aour  ol'  Bob 
an'  that  aire  big  John  Dart  'at  bought  him,  a- 
drivin'  on  him ; "  and  in  the  next  minute  he  said 
as  the  teams  met,  "Wai,  ol'  Bob,  haow  be  ye, 
ye  tarnal  ol'  critter  ?  Don't  ye  know  yer  own 
folks  ?  "  while  the  old  horse  pricked  his  ears  at 
the  sound  of  the  unmistakable,  familiar  voice. 
"  Whoa,  Jozeff,  I  got  to  git  aout  a  minute." 
Joseph,  never  loth  to  stop,  pulled  up  his  horses, 
and  the  old  man,  getting  to  the  ground  with 
clumsy  haste,  went  round  to  Bob,  caressing  the 
white  nose  which  was  thrust  into  his  horny  hand, 
and  would  have  kissed  it  if  there  had  been  no 
one  to  see  him.  "  Johnswort  hain't  made  your 
ol'  white  nose  sore  this  year,  hes  it  ?  You  know 
your  own  folks,  don't  you?  Slick  's  an  otter, 
Lain't  ye,  an'  hain't  growed  ol'  a  mite,  not  a  mite  ; 
hos  he,  Jerushy  ? "  as  he  patted  his  way  along 


58  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

the  old  horses  glossy,  black  sides  toward  the  wa 
gon  and  its  occupant,  to  whom  he  now  stretched 
forth  his  hand. 

"  Haow  dy  du,  Mr.  Dart,  you  an'  ol'  Bob 
looking  fustrate  ?  " 

44  Oh,  tol'ble,"  responded  the  giant,  shaking  the 
old  man's  hand  with  a  painful  grip  that  for  its 
heartiness  was  heroically  borne  ;  44  but  pinin' 
away  to  a  cartload ;  and  be  you  well,  and  you, 
Mis'  Peggs?  Kinder  tuckered  aout  trav'lin'? 
Putty  tough  on  folks  o'  your  age  trav'lin'  so  fur. 
You  never  ort  tu  gone  West,  an'  I  'm  mighty 
glad  y'  're  back  in  ol'  V'mont  agin  ;  "  meantime 
turning  his  horse's  head  so  that  Aunt  Jerusha's 
outstretched  hand  could  reach  it. 

44  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Dart,"  said  she  in  a  trem 
bling  voice,  as  she  stroked  Old  Bob's  white  nose 
and  patted  his  glossy  neck.  44  Yis,  I  'ni  well,  an' 
I  hope  I  see  you  the  same." 

"  I  've  got  tu  hev  me  some  boots  made,"  Dart 
said  to  Uncle  Lisha  as  the  old  man  clambered 
into  the  wagon,  44  an'  when  I  c'n  git  a  couple 
sides  o'  hither,  I  shall  be  over,"  holding  up  one 
enormous  foot  to  show  the  necessity  of  such  am 
ple  provision ;  44  an'  then,  you  must  tell  me  all 
abaout  the  West  an'  ev'ybody  aout  there." 

44  Wai,  if  his  feet  be  big "  chuckled  Uncle 
Lisha  as  they  rode  away,  44  a  kiver  fur  his  heart 
'ould  hafter  be  made  on  the  same  kind  o'  last." 


HOME  AGAIN.  59 

Joseph  urged  his  horses  forward,  but  before 
they  began  to  climb  the  second  hill  the  shadows 
of  evening  were  thick  in  the  hollows  and  creep 
ing  to  the  hilltops  in  gathering  volume,  till  the 
bounds  of  gray  woods  and  tawny  fields  grew  un- 
definable  in  the  even  hue  of  dusk,  and  the  outlines 
of  the  wooded  ridges  were  blurred  against  the 
sombre  sky.  When  the  promised  point  of  ob 
servation  was  reached,  the  valley  of  Danvis  lay 
before  them  in  the  thick  darkness  of  early  night 
fall,  the  gloom  relieved  only  by  the  broken  chain 
of  house-lights  that  here  and  there  defined  the 
lines  of  highways,  and  in  a  thicker  cluster  of 
links  marked  the  place  of  the  village. 

A  moment  after  they  had  reached  the  hilltop, 
the  expectant  silence  of  the  pair  was  broken  by 
Lisha  in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  "  Wai,  I 
swan,  we  can't  see  nuthin'.  It 's  darker  'n  a 
wolf's  maouth.  But  I  c'n  pick  aout  the  lights. 
There 's  the  forge  an'  Hamner's  an'  the  store, 
an'  there  's  the  blacksmith's  shop,  an'  there  the 
lower  rhud  goes  off  north.  An'  the  fust  haouse 
on  it  is  Darkter  Stun's,  an'  then  comes  Gove's  — 
wonder  ef  that 's  Peltier  pokin'  aout  tu  the  barn 
wi'  a  lantern  —  an'  there  's  Level's,  where  we  're 
goin',  an'  there,  'baout  a  hundred  rods  furder 
north,  ort  tu  be  aour  lights  shinin',  one  in  the 
3hop  V  'nuther  in  the  haouse  part;  but  they 
won't  never  be  lit  ag'in,  I  s'pose.  I  wish  't  they 


60  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

was  an'  these  tew  humless  an'  humly  ol'  creeturs 
was  in  the  light  on  'em,  she  a-fussin'  raound 
her  kitchin,  him  a-whackin'  away  't  his  lapstiin, 
all  his  frien's  a-loafin'  raound,  smokin'  an'  tellin' 
stories.  But  they  won't  be,  never." 

"  Why,  yes,  Lisher,  you  '11  shoemake  agin  an' 
hev  yer  frien's  comin'  an'  visitin'  jes  's  they 
useter,"  said  his  wife,  her  voice  modulated  to  the 
tender  tone  with  which  she  woidd  have  comforted 
a  child. 

"  Yis,  yis,  I  '11  shoemake,  but  it  won't  be  as  it 
useter  was.  Ol'  times  don't  never  come  ag'in. 
Ye  look  back  an'  ye  look  forrad  tu  'em,  but  they 
never  ketch  up  tu  ye,  nor  meet  ye ;  ho,  hum !  " 

"Ain't  that  light  tu  Solon  Briggs's?"  asked 
his  wife,  recalling  him  to  the  locating  of  home 
steads. 

"  An'  there  's  yourn,  Jozeff,  and  Joel  Bartlett 
hain't  a-hidin'  his'n  under  a  ha'-bushel,  for  there 
it  shines  afore  all  men.  An'  there  's  Pur'n'ton's, 
an',  le'  me  see,  why  that  aire  leetle  glim  o'  light 
off  t'  the  left  is  Antwine's.  Ev'ry  identical 
haouse  lit  up  but  aourn.  But  we  're  alive  an' 
kickin'  yit,"  he  added  more  cheerfully;  and  so 
he  completed  the  round  of  his  mental  visitation, 
during  which  Joseph  had  contributed  items  of  un 
certain  information  as  each  neighbor  was  named. 

"  An'  so  yer  father 's  hel'  his  own  tol'ble  well, 
hes  he,  Jozeff?  I  swan  tu  man,  I  dread  meetin' 


HOME  AGAIN.  61 

on  him,  for  he  '11  gi'  me  Hail  Columby  f er  comin' 
back  was  'n  he  did  f  er  goin'  away.  But  ef  I  c'n 
on'y  git  him  tu  takin'  Ti,  he'll  le'  me  alone. 
He  hes  speUs  o'  takin'  Ti  yit,  don't  he,  Jozeff?" 

"  Wai,  yis,"  Joseph  answered  with  a  tone  of 
resignation.  "  Reg'lar  oncte  a  week,  an'  I  don't 
know  but  oftener ;  seem  's  'ough.  Sometimes  I 
most  wish  him  an'  Ethan  Allen  hed  n't  never  took 
the  pleggid  oF  fort,  seems  's  'ough  I  did  a'most." 

Presently,  when  they  could  see  on  the  steps 
of  the  store,  which  was  also  the  post-office,  the  ex 
pectant  group  awaiting  the  mail,  staring  into 
the  gloom  out  of  the  dim  light  shed  through 
the  dusty  panes  and  the  sprinkled  rays  of  a  tin 
lantern,  they  turned  the  corner  and  took  the 
road  northward,  familiar  even  hi  the  darkness. 
Mingled  with  the  gusty  roar  of  the  wind,  they 
heard  the  note  of  a  hound  swelling  and  falling 
among  the  rugged  corrugations  of  the  nearest 
hill,  a  persistent,  plaintive  voice,  as  sad  and 
lonely  as  the  cry  of  some  perturbed  spirit, 
doomed  to  nightly  wandering. 

"  That  saounds  julluk  Sam's  ol'  Drive,"  said 
Uncle  Lisha,  after  giving  an  attentive  ear  to  the 
sound.  "I  hope  Samwill's  got  in,  fer  I  wanter 
come  kerslap  ont'  tha  hull  caboodle  on  'em,  an* 
s'prise  'em  all  tu  oncte.  There,"  as  the  sudden 
report  of  a  gun  was  blown  short  and  echoless, 
down  the  wind,  "  there  goes  his  gun,  tu  call  the 


62  D.iNVIS  FOLKS. 

haoun'  off.  Drive  slow,  Jozeff,  an*  give  him  a 
chance  tu  git  hum  ahead  on  us,  an'  don't  make 
no  n'ise." 

To  drive  slower  was  almost  to  stop,  but  Joseph 
accomplished  the  feat  and  still  made  some  pro 
gress.  They  were  nearing  the  Lovel  homestead 
and  could  see  the  lights  of  the  kitchen  windows 
shining  across  the  dooryard  and  fading  out  at  the 
roadside,  in  shadows  of  the  naked  lilacs.  Then 
they  heard  the  scraping  of  feet  on  the  doorstep ; 
the  door  opened  and  a  brighter  bar  of  light 
gleamed  forth,  streaked  with  the  longer  shadows 
of  two  long  legs,  as  Sam's  tall  form  was  briefly 
shown  in  silhouette  against  the  bright  interior, 
then  disappeared,  with  the  old  hound  pushing  in 
after  his  master. 

When  the  wagon  stopped  in  front  of  the  house, 
unheard  by  the  inmates  in  the  uproar  of  the  wind, 
the  travelers  saw  a  woman's  shadow  passing  to 
and  fro  across  the  half-curtain  of  the  window  and 
knew  it  was  Hiddah's,  and  by  the  clatter  of  the 
dishes  that  she  was  laying  her  husband's  supper. 

"  Good  minter  holler  tu  her  tu  set  tew  more 
plates,"  Uncle  Lisha  whispered,  smothering  a 
chuckle  in  an  asthmatic  wheeze. 

"  Come,  Jerushy,  pile  aout  's  spry  as  ye  can," 
he  continued,  getting  to  the  ground  and  reaching 
up  his  hands  to  help,  while  he  braced  himself  to 
aid  her  descent.  "Bear  yer  hull  heft  on  me. 


HOME  AGAIN.  63 

Why,  ye  don't  weigh  no  more  'n  a  straw  hat. 
There,  yer  horses  '11  stan',  Jozeff,  an*  naow  you 
go  ahead  an'  ask  them  'f  they  c'n  keep  a  couple 
o'  poor  lee  tie  young  uns  't  you  picked  up  on  the 
rhud,  over  night." 

"  Tew  young  uns  ?  Oh,  Sam  Hill,"  Joseph 
ejaculated,  and  they  could  hear  the  loose-bladed 
jack-knife  and  wooden  pocket-combs  rattling  in 
his  pocket  with  the  suppressed  laughter  that 
shook  him. 

"  Yis,  young  uns ;  an'  tell  'em  they  hain't  no 
parents  an'  hain't  hed  no  supper,  an'  don't  ye 
laugh.  An'  be  quick,  fer  I  can't  wait,"  giving 
the  last  injunction  as  Joseph  reached  the  door, 
and  they  halted  close  behind  him. 

Joseph  entered  without  knocking,  after  the 
neighborly  fashion  of  Danvis,  and  the  door  closed 
behind  him  as  he  uttered  the  salutation,  — 

"  Evenin  V 

"Evenin',"  came  Sam's  hearty  answer  from 
where  he  was  stooping  over  the  cradle  of  his 
sleeping  baby,  and  they  heard  Huldah's  cheery 
welcome  and  Timothy  Level's  voice,  as  he  came 
in  his  stockings,  to  set  a  chair  for  the  guest. 

"  Consarn  him,"  Uncle  Lisha  whispered  when 
he  heard  the  loud  sigh  of  satisfaction  which  an 
nounced  that  Joseph  had  seated  himself.  "  Naow 
he  'U  set  an'  set  tu  all  etarnity  'fore  he  gits  tu 
what  he  's  arter." 


64  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

44  Wai,  ben  huntin',  hey  ? "  Joseph  drawled. 
"  Git  one,  did  you  ?  " 

44  Yes,  got  one,"  was  the  answer. 

44  Not  when  I  heerd  ye  shoot,  sence  dark  ?  " 

44  No,  callin'  Drive  off  then.  Shot  one  fox, 
'fore  noon,  an'  started  another,  but  he  run  the 
hull  len'th  o'  Hawg's  Back  an'  never  come  back 
till  dark." 

(44  Consarn  the  dumb  fox,  he  '11  be  a-huntin'  on 
him  half  the  night,"  Uncle  Lisha  growled  under 
his  breath,  half  angry  Sam  should  be  talking  of 
such  trivial  matters  with  his  old  friends  so  near.) 

44 1  heerd  the  dawg  an'  I  heerd  ye  shoot,"  Jo 
seph  put  in  at  the  first  break  in  the  story  of  the 
day's  hunt,  44  's  I  was  comin'  'long  jest  gittin' 
back  f 'm  Vgennes ;  went  daown  wi'  a  Ihud  o' 
shingles  for  Morrison,  yist'd'y." 

44  Did  you  stop  t'  the  office  ?  "  Sam  asked  with 
sudden  interest.  44No?  Wai,  I  mus'  go  over 
arter  I  git  suthin'  t'  eat  an'  see  'f  the'  hain't  a  let 
ter  f'm  Uncle  Lisher."  (The  old  people  silently 
exchanged  punches  of  each  other's  ribs.)  44  It 's 
cur'us  he  hain't  writ.  I  hope  the'  hain't  nothin' 
happened." 

(44  The'  will  suthin',"  Uncle  Lisha  whispered 
hoarsely.  44 1  '11  go  in  an'  shake  the  paigs  aouten 
Joe  Hill's  boots,  'f  he  don't  up  an'  tell  his  leetle 
lie  pooty  quick.") 

41 1  was  comin'  'long  kinder  mawdrit  fer  me, 


HOME  AGAIN.  65 

over  beyend  the  Johns  place,  I  b'lieve  it  was,  I 
do'  know  but  't  was  this  side  o'  Perkinses,  I 
rather  guess  it  was.  Anyways,  the'  's  a  but'nut- 
tree,  an'  onderneath  that  but'nut-tree,  the'  was 
tew  pooty  leetle  young  uns,"  said  Joseph,  raising 
his  voice,  "  as  ever  you  see ;  ("  Dumb  your  pic- 
ter,"  whispered  Uncle  Lisha,  shaking  his  fist  at 
the  door ;  )  he  a-crackin'  but'nuts  wi'  a  stun,  an' 
a-feedin'  on  'em  tu  her,  an'  there  they  sot,  she 
a-cryin'  an'  him  a-crackin',  an'  they  tol'  me,  I 
don't  know  but  what  they  lied,  but  they  tol'  me 
they  had  n't  got  nothin'  tu  eat,  an'  hed  n't  no 
father  an'  mother  all  day.  ("  Joe  Hill,  I  never 
tol'  you  tu  tell  no  sech  a  lie,"  the  old  man  said 
in  a  smothered  growl.)  They  'd  come  f 'm  way 
off  somewher's,  an'  they  're  goin'  'way  back  here 
somewher's,  tu  some  o'  the'  folks  er  suthin',  an' 
I  jest  fetched  'em  along.  An'  I  come  in  tu  see 
'f  you  couldn't  kinder  keep  'em  over  night, 
'cause  ye  see  we  're  kinder  full  t'  aour  haouse,  an' 
M'ri',  she  hain't  got  what  ye  might  call  tough 
yit,  an'  think,  says  I,  as  I  come  along,  I  'U  ask 
Samwill  an'  Huldy  tu  take  'em  in." 

"  Be  they  a-settin'  aout  in  your  wagin  all  this 
time  ? "  Sam  asked  sharply.  "  Why  on  airth 
don't  ye  fetch  'em  right  in?  Poor  leetle  cubs, 
a-shiverin'  aou'-door  whilst  we  're  a-gabbin'  in  here 
comf  table.  Fetch  'em  right  in,"  and  he  made  a 
quick  movement  toward  the  door. 


66  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

Huldah  stayed  him  with  a  hand  upon  his  arm, 
and,  with  an  anxious  glance  toward  the  cradle, 
asked  hurriedly,  "  They  hain't  got  whoopin'  cough 
ner  nothin',  hev  they,  Mr.  Hill?  The'  's 
whoopin'  cough  an'  measles  raound." 

"  Wai,  no,  Huldy,"  Joseph  drawled.  "  They  're 
healthy  as  boneset,  an'  come  tu  think  on  't,  they 
hain't  so  turrible  leetle.  I  do'  know  but  what 
they  're  pooty  nigh  growed  up." 

"  Joseph  Hill,  what  on  this  livin'  airth  be  you 
talkin'  'baout?  Be  you  crazy  or  hev  you  ben 
drinkin'?"  Huldah  asked  in  a  sharp  tone  of 
mingled  vexation  and  astonishment,  while  Sam 
fixed  a  bewildered  stare  upon  their  visitor. 

"  Good  land  o'  Goshen,"  cried  Aunt  Jerusha, 
"  I  can't  stan'  sech  foolin'  no  longer,"  and  with 
trembling,  impatient  hands  fumbling  at  the 
looped  iron  door-handle,  she  raised  the  latch  and 
entered. 

With  a  yearning  for  womanly  touch  and  sym 
pathy  that  could  find  no  expression  in  words, 
brushing  past  Sam,  she  went  with  the  quick, 
jerky  step  of  an  agile  old  woman  and  with  arms 
outspread,  straight  to  Huldah,  and  the  fresh  young 
face  and  the  other,  wrinkled  with  age,  were  hid 
den  together  beneath  the  melon  hood. 

"An'  naow,"  quavered  Aunt  Jerusha,  with 
drawing  her  face  a  little  from  Huldah's,  and 
eagerly,  though  with  tearful  eyes,  searching  the 
room,  «  where  's  that  baby  ?  " 


HOME  AGAIN.  67 

Uncle  Lisha  had  entered  close  behind  her,  and 
roaring,  "Good  airth  an'  seas,"  which  it  was 
good  to  hear  again,  was  shaking  hands  with  every 
one,  at  last  even  with  Joseph  and  Aunt  Jerusha, 
never  letting  go  a  hand  till  the  possessor  of  that 
member  was  dragged  to  where  the  next  was  await 
ing  his  grasp.  The  old  hound,  awakened  by  the 
unusual  commotion,  scrambled  out  backward  from 
his  place  beneath  the  stove,  with  a  prodigious 
clatter  of  his  stiff  toes,  and,  after  sniffing  at  Uncle 
Lisha' s  knee,  set  up  a  bellow  of  welcome  and  be 
labored  every  one's  legs  with  sounding  blows  of 
his  tail.  The  baby,  aroused  by  the  noise,  swelled 
it  with  his  own  lusty  outcry  while  Aunt  Jerusha 
fluttered  back  and  forth,  hovering  now  over  the 
child,  now  over  the  stove,  and  lamenting  her 
hands  were  too  cold  to  take  him.  At  last  by  lulla- 
bys  and  commands,  quiet  was  partially  restored, 
Aunt  Jerusha  was  divested  of  her  cloak  and  hood 
by  Huldah's  ready  hands,  Uncle  Lisha  was  labo 
riously  unsheathed  from  his  tight-sleeved  surtout 
by  the  united  exertions  of  Sam  and  Joseph,  and 
Timothy  Lovel  stood  aloof,  an  interested  spec 
tator,  helpful  in  holding  the  bell-crowned  beaver. 

When  the  travelers'  chest,  bandbox,  and  blue 
cotton  umbrella  were  brought  in,  the  men  drew 
their  chairs  to  the  stove  and  set  themselves  to 
the  business  of  visiting,  and  the  two  women  ex 
changed  whispered  confidences  while  the  elder 


68  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

made  excursive  advances  toward  the  baby's  ac 
quaintance  and  the  younger  busied  herself  with 
preparation  of  an  ampler  supper.  Joseph  Hill 
would  not  stay  to  sup  with  them.  He  told  M'rT, 
he  said,  'at  he  'd  be  hum  to  supper  an'  she  'd  be 
a-keepin'  on  't  fer  him ;  so  promising  to  bring  his 
father  and  wife  over  soon  to  see  their  old  friends, 
after  his  lingering  fashion,  he  took  himself  away. 

The  tall  clock  that  in  former  years  had  placidly 
ticked  away  innumerable  sad  and  happy  moments 
of  these  old  people's  lives,  had  escaped  their  no 
tice  till,  with  a  wheezy  purr,  it  began  deliberately 
to  strike  the  hour.  Uncle  Lisha  checked  a  half- 
spoken  word  to  listen.  "  Jerushy,  du  you  hear 
the  ol'  clock?  "  he  cried  ;  and  the  two  went  over 
to  it,  fondly  examining  its  dull,  brazen  face,  and 
opening  the  narrow  door,  displaying  the  ponder 
ous  weights  so  often  coveted  by  Sam  in  his  boy 
hood  for  the  treasure  of  shot  which  they  were 
said  to  hold. 

"  An'  here  's  suthin'  else  I  wanter  hev  ye  look 
at,"  said  their  host ;  and  taking  a  candle  he  led 
them  into  the  afterthought  of  builders  known  as 
a  lean-to,  whither  Huldah  followed,  and  Timothy 
Lovel  came  to  stand  in  the  doorway  with  an 
amused  smile  ready  to  flicker  upon  his  quiet 
countenance. 

There  was  revealed  the  old  shoemaker's  bench 
at  a  long,  low  window,  beneath  which  was  fas- 


HOME  AGAIN.  69 

tened  a  folding  wooden  sconce  with  a  candle  in 
it,  some  familiar  chairs,  veterans  with  disabled 
legs,  and  the  old  shop's  cracked  stove.  This 
familiar  furniture,  with  some  rolls  of  leather  and 
a  few  blocks  of  unsplit  pegs,  gave  the  room,  but 
for  its  unuse  and  cleanliness,  much  the  appear 
ance  of  the  old  shop.  To  complete  the  likeness 
there  was  only  lacking  a  clutter  of  lasts  and  tools, 
an  accumulation  of  rubbish,  and  an  odor  of  to 
bacco,  mingled  with  the  smell  of  leather  that 
already  pervaded  it. 

Even  as  it  was,  it  gave  the  old  man  a  thrill  of 
delight  that  nearly  took  his  breath  away.  He 
could  only  gasp,  "Good  airth  an'  seas,"  and 
plumped  himself  into  the  leathern  seat  as  if  he 
had  again  found  rest  and  peace.  Instinctively  he 
stretched  forth  his  hand  to  the  place  where  his 
tools  should  be.  Looking  up  at  Sam  and  Huldah 
with  a  smile  more  expressive  of  thanks  than  any 
words  could  be,  he  said :  — 

"  Ol'  times  can't  never  come  back  ag'in,  but  it 
seems  as  'ough  this,  wi'  a  leetle  seasonin',  would 
eenamost  fetch  'em." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AMONG    OLD    FRIENDS. 

IT  was  with  devout  thankfulness  that  Uncle 
Lisha  and  his  wife  found  that  the  time  which  had 
seemed  so  long  to  them  had  wrought  few  changes 
among  old  friends  and  familiar  scenes.  If  they 
could  but  have  taken  up  the  broken  thread  of 
their  far-spent  life  in  their  old  brown  house  and 
shop,  the  measure  of  present  contentment  would 
have  been  full.  Yet  they  inherited,  in  some 
measure,  the  adaptability  to  change  which  has 
come,  through  restless  generations  of  pioneers,  to 
the  Yankee  race,  and  they  were  content  to  be  the 
welcome  inmates  of  the  Level's  hospitable  home. 

It  was  pleasant  to  be  so  near  the  old  home, 
and  it  comforted  them  to  know  that  human  life 
had  quite  gone  out  of  it  when  they  forsook  it. 
The  capricious  November  weather  having  fallen 
into  an  unexpected  mood  of  mildness  on  the  day 
after  their  arrival,  they  walked  down  to  the  old 
place  and  found  it  little  changed  since  they  had 
last  seen  it,  except  by  the  air  of  complete  deser 
tion  that  pervaded  it. 

They  pushed  open  the  unlatched  door  and  en* 


AMONG  OLD  FRIENDS.  71 

tered  with  an  awed  sense  of  being  the  ghosts  of 
their  former  selves,  yet  apparitions  that  would 
affright  no  one,  nor  scarcely  disturb  the  squirrels 
that  hoarded  their  stores  in  the  garret,  nor  inter 
rupt  the  woodpecker's  tattoo  on  the  gable  clap 
boards,  nor  awaken  the  woodchuck  from  his  long 
nap  under  the  flooring  of  the  shop.  Upon  this 
floor,  that  was  indented  with  his  own  and  innu 
merable  other  heel-marks,  the  old  cobbler  saw  the 
rubbish  of  leather  scraps  almost  as  he  had  left  it, 
but  for  the  blue  mould  that  had  gathered  on  it, 
quite  overpowering  with  mustiness  the  odor  of 
tannin  and  wax  that  once  pervaded  the  dingy  lit 
tle  den. 

Thence  the  two  went  into  the  house  part, 
in  which  their  married  life  had  begun,  where 
children  had  been  born  to  them,  where  they  had 
toiled  and  grown  weary  and  rested,  whose  low 
browed  rooms  were  hallowed  by  days  and  years 
of  happiness  and  sorrow  and  the  slow  healing  of 
bereavement. 

In  the  kitchen,  from  the  blank  fireplace,  with 
its  ashes  of  the  last  fire  they  had  kindled  there, 
already  showing  a  green  film  of  moss,  the  crane 
stretched  out  to  them  its  naked,  sooty  arm, 
whether  interrogating  or  supplicating,  seemed  not 
clear  to  them.  Out  of  the  smoky  ceiling  the 
empty  iron  hooks  reached  toward  them  as  if  ask 
ing  the  old  burdens  of  crooknecks  and  dried 


72  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

apples.  Amid  them,  the  empty  stovepipe  hole 
stared  down  at  the  unworn  patch  of  floor  the 
winter  stove  had  covered,  in  silent  reproach. 
Their  own  hushed  voices  sounded  hollow  and  un 
natural. 

In  vain  they  strove  to  rehabilitate  the  rooms 
in  imagination  with  their  old  furniture ;  they 
could  not  make  them  homelike  nor  bring  any 
warmth  of  their  old  life  to  dispel  the  pervading 
smell  of  unused,  unpainted  wood,  except  once 
when  Aunt  Jerusha  opened  the  kitchen  cupboard 
and  there  came  out  of  it  a  faint,  embalmed  odor 
of  loaf  cake  and  gingerbread  that  made  them 
both  hungry. 

Groping  in  the  furthest  corner  of  the  upper 
shelf  for  some  forgotten  relic  of  the  old  life,  her 
fingers  touched  some  soft,  yielding  fabric,  and 
then  drew  forth  a  rudely  fashioned  little  rag  doll, 
whose  ink-marked  features  had  almost  faded  into 
the  dingy  hue  of  the  homespun  linen  face.  With 
fond,  speechless  wonder  they  looked  upon  it  for 
a  moment,  and  with  one  accord  went  over  to  the 
east  window,  where,  with  eyes  dimmed  with  some 
thing  more  than  age,  through  the  haze  of  the 
calm  autumnal  day,  they  saw  the  scarlet  sumach 
bobs  shining  out  of  the  wilderness  of  the  little 
hillside  graveyard  where  they  buried  their  only 
daughter,  in  the  long  ago  of  her  childhood.  For 
a  brief  space  the  deserted  house  seemed  again  to 


AMONG  OLD  FRIENDS.  73 

be  their  home,  and  the  scurry  of  the  squirrels  over 
head,  the  patter  of  a  little  child's  feet.  Thank 
ful  to  leave  it  with  the  impression  of  such  a 
presence,  they  went  out,  closing  the  door  rev 
erently  behind  them. 

They  went  down  the  tangled,  untrodden  path 
to  the  little  gate,  that  was  still  held  shut  with 
a  chain  weighted  with  a  rusty  plow-point.  Here 
they  were  suddenly  confronted  by  Gran'ther  Hill, 
as  erect  as  when  they  had  last  seen  him,  though 
leaning  a  little  more  heavily  on  the  staff  that  so 
often  emphasized  his  words. 

"  You  tarnal  ol'  critters,"  he  whistled  hoarsely 
through  a  smile  as  grim  as  toothless  jaws  could 
show,  while  he  stretched  forth  a  cordial  hand  to 
them.  "  Be  ye  a  tryin'  to  ressurreck  yourselves, 
er  what  be  ye  duin'  a  hantin'  raound  here  where 
ye  'd  ortu  staid  ?  Did  n't  I  tell  ye,  Lisher  Peggs, 
'at  the  rattlesnaikes  'ould  chaw  ye,  an'  the  fever 
'n'  aig  'ould  shake  ye,  an'  the  Injins  'ould  skelp 
ye  till  ye  'd  wish 't  ye  'd  staid  where  ye  was  ? 
Hey  ?  Did  n't  I  ?  Did  n't  I  know  ?  An'  don't 
you  know  now  't  I  knowed?  What?"  as  Uncle 
Lisha  attempted  to  explain  that  he  had  not  been 
beset  by  any  such  enemies.  "You  tell  me  th' 
did  n't  no  snaikes  bite  ye  ?  You  could  n't  feel  'em 
a  chawin'  yer  ol'  so'  luther  hide.  But  they  did. 
An'  I  '11  bate  it  killed  'em,  erless  they  got  sick  o* 
the  taste  on  yer,  which  I  should  n't  blame  'em 


74  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

none.  Yis,  ye  did  hev  fever  V  aig,  an*  did  n't 
know  it  fm  the  nat'ral  rattlin'  o'  your  ol'  bones. 
An'  ef  the  Injins  didn't  skelp  ye  'twas  cause 
they  got  sick  o'  the  job  an'  gin  it  up.  Take  off 
yer  hat  an'  lemme  see  what  luck  they  hed  a 
peelin'  yer  ol'  bal'  skelp.  Wai,  then  what  did 
ye  come  back  f er  ?  Seddaown  on  that  lawg  'f  ye 
hain't  got  'bove  sech  settin'.  They  du  say  the' 
hain't  no  lawgs  on  them  perraries,  an'  tell  me," 
and  he  seated  himself  on  an  elm  trunk  that  years 
ago  had  defied  Uncle  Lisha's  efforts  to  split  it, 
and,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  waved  his  friends 
to  a  place  beside  him. 

Aunt  Jerusha  dusted  a  place  for  herself  with 
her  checked  copperas  and  white  home-made  hand 
kerchief,  while  Uncle  Lisha  carefully  parted  the 
tails  of  his  coat  and  sat  down. 

"Ahem,"  he  cleared  his  throat  to  explain. 
"  The  fact  on 't  is,  I  got  sick  on  't  an'  so  did 
Jerushy." 

"  You  —  got  —  sick  —  on 't !  "  cried  the  vet 
eran  with  ineffable  contempt,  "  an'  sneaked  off. 
Wai,  I  'm  'shamed  on  ye,  f  er  disgracin'  yer  State. 
A  Green  Maountain  Boy  a-gettin'  sick  on  't  an' 
a-sneakin'  back  hum'.  Why,  man  alive,  don't 
ye  s'pose  we  got  sick  on't  tu  Ben'n't'n  an'  al 
mighty  sick  on  't,  tu,  wi'  the  Hessians  a-pepperin' 
on  us,  an'  the  sun  a-blazin'  daown  hotter  'n  To- 
phit?  But  we  didn't  sneak  off.  No,  sir,  we 


AMONG  OLD  FRIENDS.  75 

stuck  her  aout,  an'  we  licked  'em.  That 's  haow 
we  done  in  them  times." 

"  Lemme  see,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  searching  his 
memory  for  some  missile  to  cast  at  his  contemner, 
"  haow  was  't  tu  Hubbar't'n  ?  Yis,  an'  tu  Ticon- 
derogue  when  Burgwine  come?"  triumphantly 
hurling  a  second  question  before  the  first  had 
fairly  struck. 

The  veteran  glared  at  him  a  moment  before 
he  growled  hoarsely,  "  Lisher  Peggs,  be  you  a 
nat'ral  borned  idjit,  er  don't  ye  know  nothin'? 
Don't  ye  know  'at  Hale  sneaked  off  wi'  his  rig'- 
ment,  an'  left  Warner  an'  Francis  tu  stan'  the 
hull  bilin'  o'  Hessians  wi'  their 'n,  an'  they  was 
tew  many  f  er  us  tu  stan'  ag'in',  an'  we  hed  tu  run 
in  spite  o'  Warner's  cussin',  which  it  was  nigh 
'baout  as  hot  as  the  Hessians'  firm',  an'  Francis 
was  daown,  an*  Warner  run  hisself,  an'  when 
Seth  Warner  run  't  was  time  fer  most  folks  tu 
scratch  gravel.  Hubbar't'n,  hump,  'f  I  'd  stayed 
there  I  'd  ben  killed,  an'  who  'd  there  ben  tu  fight 
tu  Ben'n't'n?  An'  'baout  Ti,"  he  continued 
more  calmly,  "  why,  ye  see,  Sinclair  let  'em  git 
their  cannern  top  o'  Sugar  Loaf,  't  wa'n't  none  o' 
my  duin's,  an'  then  the'  wa'n't  nothin'  for  't,  but 
tu  clear  aout,  er  git  took,  an'  the'  hain't  no  use  o' 
that." 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  beaming  triumph 
antly  on  his  adversary,  "  an'  no  more  the*  wa'n't 


76  DAN  VIS    FOLKS. 

no  use  in  us  a-stayin'  aout  West  an'  dyin',  jest 
aout'n  stinkin'  pride.  An'  so  we  gin  up  sensible, 
jest  as  you  did  tu  Hubbar't'n  an'  Ti." 

"An'  ye  done  almighty  well,  Lisher,  so  ye 
did,"  said  Gran'ther  Hill,  heartily,  "an'  I'm 
glad  ye  lied  sense  'nough  tu.  But,"  he  added, 
emphasizing  each  word  with  a  tap  of  his  staff  on 
Lisha's  shoulder,  "  don't  fergit  I  tol'  ye  so." 

"  Day  'fore  yeste'day,"  Uncle  Lisha  said,  turn 
ing  the  conversation  into  a  pleasanter  channel, 
"  we  come  past  ol'  Fort  Ti,  an'  it  most  seemed 
's  'ough  I  could  see  you  an'  Ethan  Allen  an' 
'mongst  ye,  a  marchin'  up  to  't  in  the  gray  o'  the 
mornin',  an'  a-takin'  of  it,  though  it  don't  look 
wuth  a-takin'  er  a-keepin'  naow." 

"  An'  by  the  Lord  Harry,  you  'd  ort  tu  seen 
us,"  cried  Gran'ther  Hill,  who  at  once  began  for 
an  unnumbered  time  the  recital  of  the  exploit,  in 
which  he  took  greater  pride  than  in  any  other 
wherein  he  had  borne  a  part.  "  It 's  many  a 
year  sen  I  seen  the  ol'  fort,"  he  said  in  conclu 
sion,  long  before  which  his  listeners  had  grown 
restless,  "  an'  they  say  it  has  gone  tu  rack  an' 
ruin,  which  it  is  a  shame  tu  the  nation  we  took  it 
for  an'  gin  it  tu.  But  this  grubbin',  tradin'  gen 
eration  hain't  no  pride  in  things  't  was  did,  in 
the  days  when  the'  was  men.  They  '11  brag  on  't 
Fo'th  o'  Julys  an'  'lections  as  ef  they  'd  did  it 
the'selves,  but  they  hain't  no  pride  in  nothin'  but 


AMONG  OLD  FEIENDS.  77 

makin'  money  an'  gittin'  'lected,  an  '11  fence  sheep 
pasters  an'  onderpin  haousen  wi'  the'  gran'thers' 
gravestones  'f  they  're  handier  'n  cobblestuns  an' 
querries,  damn  'em." 

"  Le  's  gwup  tu  Samwill's,"  said  Uncle  Lisha, 
breaking  the  silence  that  followed  this  outbreak 
of  indignation.  "  He  's  got  some  cider  't  's  tur- 
rible  good  for  the  time  o'  year,"  and  he  arose  to 
lead  the  way. 

"  You  don't  say  ?  "  cried  Gran'ther  Hill,  get 
ting  to  his  feet  with  wonderful  alacrity.  "  Wai, 
I  guess  I  will,  for  I  be  got  kinder  dry  talkin',  an' 
it  seems  as  'ough  a  mug  o'  saound  cider  'ould 
tech  the  dryest  spot." 

In  his  haste  to  put  this  cure  for  thirst  to  proof, 
he  was  presently  leading  his  companions,  stepping 
out  briskly  to  the  air  of  "  The  Road  to  Boston," 
produced  by  the  violent  outputting  and  indraw- 
ing  of  breath  that  now  served  for  the  whistle  long 
since  mustered  out  of  his  toothless  jaws.  The 
quickstep  soon  brought  them  to  Sam's  door, 
with  Uncle  Lisha  scant  of  breath  and  mopping 
his  brow  with  his  bandanna,  though  Aunt  Jera- 
sha  had  borne  the  forced  march  wonderfully  well. 

The  veteran  beamed  upon  him  a  grim  smile  of 
doubtful  approval.  "  You  must  ha'  ben  a  good 
sojer,  Lisher,"  he  said.  "You  don't  keep  step 
wuth  a  soo  markee,  but  ye  never  could  ha'  run  ef 
you  'd  a  wanted  tu." 


78  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

Entering,  they  found  Sam  stretching  yester 
day's  fox-skin  upon  a  board,  while  the  baby,  be 
tween  his  knees,  played  with  the  dangling  brush. 

"  Mornin',  Cap'n  Hill,"  said  Sam  heartily ;  and 
Huldah  came  out  of  the  pantry,  brushing  flour 
from  her  hands  on  her  white  baking  apron,  and 
offered  one,  rosy  through  its  dusty  bloom,  to  the 
ancient  guest. 

u  Take  a  seat,  Cap'n  Hill,"  she  said,  shoving 
the  great  splint-bottomed  chair  toward  him  and 
cuffing  the  feathers  of  its  patchwork  cushion 
into  hospitable  softness.  "  How  's  all  the  folks 
up  tu  your  haouse  ?  your  son's  wife  an'  the 
child'n,  be  they  well  ?  Seddaown  in  the  rockin' 
chair,  Aunt  Jerushy,  an'  Uncle  Lisher,  you  take 
t'  other  armchair.  They  're  well,  be  they  ?  " 

"Well?  Wai,  I  guess  they  be  by  the 
rumpus  they  make,  wus  'n  a  hull  tribe  o'  Injins. 
M'rier  stan's  it  better  'n  I  could  er  would.  By 
the  Lord  Harry,  I  wish  't  I  c'ld  bring  up  them 
young  uns.  Fust  thing  I'd  skin  'em.  Gi'  me 
that  boy  o'  yourn  —  I  know  he  's  a  boy  by  his 
actions  a  touslin'  that  aire  fox-tail ;  ef  't  was  a 
rhuster  feather,  he  might  be  a  gal  —  gi'  me  that 
aire  boy,  Huldy  Pur'n't'n,  an'  I  '11  make  ye  suthin' 
tu  be  praoud  on.  See  the  leetle  sarpint  wrastle 
that  fox-tail,  an'  smell  on  't  's  ef  't  was  a  posy. 
He 's  got  hunt  in  him,  I  tell  ye,  julluk  a  haoun' 
pup.  It 's  tew  bad  tu  hev  him  grow  up  a  tarnal, 


AMONG  OLD  FRIENDS.  79 

unmannered,  consaited  fool,  all  young  uns  does 
nowerdays,  but  he  will  'f  he  hain't  gin  tu  me.  I 
don't  know  o'  nob'dy  else  left  fit  tu  bring  up  a 
young  un  tu  lick  'em  an'  larn  'm  's  they  'd  ortu 
be." 

"  I  do'  know,  Cap'n,"  said  Sam,  smiling 
proudly  on  his  first-born  and  dragging  him  a  lit* 
tie  to  and  fro  by  the  brush,  still  grasped  by  the 
chubby,  dimpled  hands  ;  "  I  guess  we  don't  want 
him  skinned  jest  yet ;  he  hain't  prime." 

Gran'ther  Hill  acknowledged  the  joke  with  a 
chuckle.  "  Don't  ye  wait  till  he  sheds  his  fur,  er 
the  cub  won't  be  wuth  shucks.  Come  'ere,  bub," 
and  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  steel  tobacco  box, 
bright  with  wear  in  spite  of  a  mottle  of  rust 
specks.  "  Come  'ere  an'  see  the  pooty-pooty," 
shaking  the  box,  which,  with  its  inclosed  bit  of 
hard  nail  rod  tobacco,  made  an  inviting  rattle. 

The  baby's  blue  eyes  grew  round  with  pleased 
wonder,  and  he  tugged  at  the  fox-skin  to  take  it 
with  him  to  the  newly  offered  toy,  but,  when  he 
could  not,  crept  back  between  his  father's  knees. 

"Jullook  o'  that,"  cried  the  old  man,  "he 
won't  leggo  a  fox- skin  for  terbarker  in  a  box  'at 
was  in  Ben'n't'n  battle,  an'  was  hit  by  a  Hessian 
bullet,  an'  saved  my  laig,  ef  it  didn't  my  life." 
And  ho  exhibited  a  dent  in  the  cover.  "  I  tell 
ye  that  boy 's  a  borned  hunter.  What  ye  named 
him,  Sam  ?  Gin  him  a  good,  short,  hones'  name 


80  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

aouten  no  go  betweens,  er  hev  ye  named  him 
all  the  names  o'  all  yer  relations,  'cordin'  tu 
naowerdays  fashin  ?  Aour  young  uns  was  tellin' 
o'  one  o'  them  Noakes  boys  'at  goes  tu  school,  'at 
when  the  master  ast  his  name  up  an'  answered, 
4  Guy  Azro  Joab  Jethro  Uncle  James  Ferris 
Noakes.'  What  ye  think  o'  thet  fer  a  name? 
One  good  solid  chunk  o'  fust  name  was  'nough 
fer  Geo'ge  Washin't'n  an'  Ethan  Allen,  an'  Seth 
Warner  an'  Josier  Hill,  by  thunder.  But  I 
most  fergot  my  ar'nt.  Naow,  what  I  want  's  a 
mug  o'  cider  tu  m'isen  my  mortal  clay,  which 
I  've  dried  up,  a-gabbin'." 

"  I  gin  him  a  invite,  thinkin'  he  'd  be  wel 
come,"  said  Uncle  Lislia  in  an  apologetic  under 
tone. 

"  Why,  sartainly,"  said  Sam ;  "  Huldy,  won't 
you  get  me  a  pitcher  whilst  I  light  a  light  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  need  no  invite  on'y  tu  know  you 
hed  it.  When  cider  hain't  free  plunder  tu  neigh 
bors,  all  the  good  ol'  times  must  be  gone  by." 
He  smacked  his  lips  as  he  heard  from  the  cellar 
the  squeak  of  the  tap,  the  responsive  rush  of  the 
cider  into  the  pitcher,  running  up  the  gamut 
from  emptiness  to  fulness  in  a  hospitable  tune 
which,  he  remarked  with  satisfaction,  was  not  cut 
short  when  the  tap  was  re-driven,  by  a  hollow 
sound  portending  drouthiness  in  the  immediate 
future.  After  tasting  the  proffered  glass  with  an 


AMONG  OLD  FEIENDS.  81 

approving  smack,  he  withheld  his  lips  to  bestow 
the  ambiguous  compliment  that  every  Yankee  is 
in  due  politeness  bound  to  give  his  host's  cider 
in  every  season  from  its  sparkling  youth  to  sour 
age. 

"  That  aire  's  mighty  good  cider  for  the  tune  o* 
year." 

Warmed  with  a  second  glass,  he  looked  over 
its  rim  at  the  baby  still  playing  with  the  fox- 
skin.  "  A  reg'lar  borned  hunter,  julluk  his 
father.  I  'd  ortu  take  an'  bring  'em  both  up  an' 
larn  'em  tu  shoot,  f  er  the  'd  ortu  be  some  hunters 
a-growin'  up.  Hunters  makes  sojers,  an'  the '11 
be  need  on  'em  sometime.  It  does  beat  all  natur' 
what  cussed  foolish  idees  folks  hes  come  tu  hev 
abaout  huntin'  bein'  low  daown  an'  goo'  fer  no- 
thin'.  Don't  they  know  't  huntin'  was  half 
folkses  livin'  in  ol'  times  an'  larnt  'em  tu  fight 
Injins  as  well  as  other  varmints  ?  When  I  was 
a  boy,  a  boy  went  a-huntin'  's  soon  's  he  could 
kerry  a  gun,  an'  hed  tu  rest  it  ag'in'  a  tree  tu 
shoot,  an'  when  the  time  come  he  was  all  ready 
tu  be  a  sojer.  Look  a'  Ethan  Allen  an'  Seth 
Warner  an'  Peleg  Sunderlan'  an'  Remember 
Baker  an'  Bob  Cockrun  an'  -  '  straightening 
himself  in  his  chair  and  striking  his  breast  with 
his  fist  —  "  wal,  I  won't  call  no  names,  but  look 
a'  the  hull  bilin'  o'  Green  Maountain  boys,  ev'y 
man  jack  on  'em  a  hunter  by  spells.  Be  they  men 


82  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

fer  these  creeturs  tu  stick  up  the'r  new  fashined 
noses  at  ?  Look  a*  the  boys,  yis,  an'  the  growed 
up  young  fellers,  naow.  Don't  half  on  'em  know 
one  eend  of  a  gun  f'm  t'  other,  an'  turn  aout  tu 
trainin'  wi'  sticks  an'  brooms.  S'pose  the'  come 
a  war,  where  'd  we  be  ?  Er  jest  a  wolf  ?  I 
wisht  tu  the  Lord  the'  would  a  wolf  come  an' 
kinder  wake  up  the  blasted  folks.  Guess  they  'd 
find  aout  the 's  some  use  in  knowin'  haow  tu 
shoot  a  gun." 

"  I  'm  half  thinkin',  Cap'n  Hill,  the'  is  a  wolf 
hengin'  raound  on  the  maoun tains.  I  've  seen 
some  signs  'at  looks  that  way,"  said  Sam,  fasten 
ing  the  stretched  skin  with  the  last  nail. 

"Sho'.  Th'  hain't  nuther,"  Gran'ther  Hill 
growled  incredulously,  "you  wouldn't  know  a 
wolf  sign  'f  you  'd  seen  it." 

"  Wai,  mebby,"  Sam  admitted,  "  but  I  more  'n 
half  b'lieve  th'  is." 

"  Wai,  ef  th'  is,  someb'dy's  sheep  '11  ketch  it 
'fore  spring,  fer  the'  hain't  no  deer.  Ef  he  'd 
on'y  kill  tew,  three  o'  Joel  Bartlett's,  woidd  n't 
th'  be  a-weepin'  an'  wailin'  an'  a-gnashin'  o' 
teeth?  An'  him  a-thinkin'  a  man  wi'  a  gun  on 
his  shoulder  's  goin'  stret  tu  Tophet.  Er  'f  he  'd 
kill  an  ol'  breedin'  yoe  fer  yer  father,  Huldy. 
He  's  tumble  sot  ag'in'  huntin',  an'  thinks  the 
devil  owed  him  a  gretch  an'  paid  it  in  a  huntin' 
aon-in-law.  My  sakes,  wouldn't  it  set  'em  ;i~ 


AMONG  OLD  FRIENDS.  83 

hummin'?"  He  cackled  a  dry,  cracked  laugh 
as  he  looked  out  the  window  across  the  fields  to 
the  quiet  homesteads  and  imagined  the  commotion 
into  which  the  advent  of  a  wolf  would  throw 
them.  Suddenly  the  chuckle  ceased,  the  senile 
mirthfulness  of  his  visage  faded  into  a  blank 
stare  of  consternation. 

"  I  swear,"  he  whispered  hoarsely  to  himself, 
but  so  loudly  that  other  ears  were  reached,  "  ef 
there  hain't  thet  Pur'n't'n  womern  a-comin'  wi' 
her  gal  a-towin'  of  her.  (I  wish  'twas  the  wo 
mern  'at  got  lost,  an'  they  hed  n't  never  f aound 
her.)  Wai,  I  got  tu  be  a-goin',"  he  declared; 
and  rising  in  flurried  haste  departed  in  spite  of 
all  hospitable  entreaty,  with  as  much  precipita 
tion  as  he  had  quitted  the  disastrous  field  of 
Hubbardton. 

An  abashed  titter  broke  the  brief  interval  of 
silence,  and  then  Mrs.  Purington  entered,  pant 
ing  with  the  exertion  of  climbing  the  steep  steps, 
with  Sis,  in  the  bashfulness  of  overgrown  awk 
wardness,  following  close  behind. 

"  Ef  I  hev  got  tu  come  over  here  every  tew, 
three  days  fer  the  hull  endurin'  days  o'  my  life," 
she  gasped  in  tones  whose  reproachfulness  was 
emphasized  by  her  labored  breathing,  "  it  does 
seem  as  ef  someb'dy  might  stick  some  planks  er 
slabs  er  suthin'  int'  the  fences  tu  make  it  easier 
a-gettin'  over.  An'  these  'ere  back  steps,  it 's 


84  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

jiilluk  climbin'  a  ladder.  I  should  think,  Samwill, 
'at  you  might  kinder  slant  'em  someways.  It 
does  seem  as  ef  my  limbs  an'  my  breath  was  a- 
gettin'  shorter  ev'y  day,  an'  it  does  seem  as 
'ough  I  could  n't  stan'  it  a  -  trapesin'  over  here 
much  longer." 

44  Ef  you  'd  holler  er  blow  a  horn  when  you 
was  a-startin'  I  might  go  an'  le'  daown  the  fences 
for  ye,"  Sam  suggested  cheerily,  while  he  re 
volved  plans  for  making  the  fences  more  impassa 
ble. 

His  mother-in-law  acknowledged  the  suggestion 
by  a  sigh  expressive  of  submission  to  continued 
injury,  and,  having  somewhat  recovered  breath, 
waddled  over  to  the  newly  arrived  guests,  whom 
she  saluted  with  funereal  solemnity. 

"Haow  du  you  du,  Aunt  Jerushy,  an'  haow 
du  you  du,  Uncle  Lisher  ?  You  hain't  well,  be 
ye,  naow?  You  du  look  so  wore  aout  an'  tuck 
ered,  an'  I  p'sume  tu  say  you  're  comin'  daown 
wi'  that  aire  Western  fever  'at  so  manv  dies  on. 
You  'd  ort  tu  go  right  tu  bed,  an'  take  suthin', 
some  boneset  tea  er  pennyrile  er  suthin'.  I  du 
wish  't  I  'd  fetched  over  suthin',  an'  I  would  'f 
I  'd  knowed  you  was  a  -  lookin'  so.  But  I  do' 
know  's  I  could  ha'  stood  it  tu  ha'  fetched  any- 
thin'  but  myself.  Jest  as  soon  's  I  felt  able  arter 
I  hearn  you  *d  come,  I  tol'  him  I  mus'  come  an* 
give  ye  a  welcome  an'  make  you  feel  tu  hum, 


AMOXG  OLD  FRIEXDS.  85 

'cause  I  knowed  ye  could  n  't  help  f  eelin'  't  you 
was  craowdin'  in,  an'  I  p'sume  tu  say  it  will  on- 
convenience  Huldy  an'  Saniwill  consid'able.  ' 

"  'T  ain't  no  sech  a  thing,"  cried  Huldah, 
sharply,  indignant  and  mortified.  ••  They  ?re  jest 
as  welcome  as  they  e'n  be,  an'  it 's  them  'at  's 
duin'  us  a  favor.  An'  they  look  jest  as  well  as 
they  did  when  they  went  away,  an'  we  're  so  glad 
tu  hev  'em  back.  Mother,  you  're  allers  an'  for 
ever  a  tewin'." 

u  But  then,"  continued  Mrs.  Purington,  se- 
renelv  unmindful  of  this  interruption,  ••  it  hain't 
proberble  'at  at  your  age,  you  *11  be  spared  much 
longer  in  this  vale  o'  tears.''  With  the  air  of 
having  administered  consolation  to  all  concerned, 
she  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  seated  herself 
at  the  window  and  lapsed  for  a  little  while  into 
silence,  sadly  regarding  the  old  people  who  sat 
burning  in  speechless  discomfort  till  Aunt  Je- 
rusha  ventured  to  say  :  — 

44  The'  can't  nob'dy  say  'at  we  come  wi'aout 
bein'  ast.  But,"  she  added  with  a  tremor  of  fer 
vor  in  her  voice,  "  the'  don't  nob'dy  know  but 
them  'at  "s  tried  it,  haow  we  did  wanter  come. 
Ef  they  did,  they  would  n't  blame  us." 

44  An'  they  don't,"  said  Huldah,  flashing  an  an 
gry  glance  at  her  mother,  and  then,  shutting  her 
lips  tightly  together  to  keep  back  angrier  words, 
she  retreated  into  the  pantry. 


86  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

"  Not  nob'dy  'at  's  got  any  business  tu,"  Sam 
supplemented  in  his  quiet  drawl. 

His  father  made  a  show  of  mending  the  fire, 
and  went  out  on  tiptoe  for  an  armful  of  wood, 
having  through  long  experience  with  Sam's  late- 
departed  step-mother  learned  to  employ  the  better 
part  of  valor,  when  a  war  of  women's  words  im 
pended. 

Mrs.  Purington  put  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and 
rocked  herself  from  side  to  side  in  silent  endur 
ance  of  the  injuries  that  she  felt  were  being 
heaped  upon  her. 

"  I  wanter  know  if  this  'ere  is  Sis  Pur'n't'n  ?  " 
Aunt  Jerusha  asked,  lifting  her  spectacles  and 
looking  intently  at  the  girl,  who  was  now  shield 
ing  her  bashfulness  behind  her  sister,  coming  to 
the  stove  with  a  pumpkin  pie.  "  Wai,  it  does 
beat  all  haow  she  's  growed.  Clean  up  tu  yer 
shoulder,  Huldy,  an'  favors  you  an'  her  father. 
I  'm  glad  o'  that."  Mrs.  Purington  cut  short 
a  grieved  snuffle  with  a  sniff  of  contempt. 

"  So  she  does,"  Uncle  Lisha  assented  after  a 
critical  inspection  through  the  round-eyed  glasses 
which  he  had  put  on  for  this  especial  service ; 
"  but  Huldy  's  chunkeder  built." 

"  Yis,  but  Sis  hain't  got  her  shape  yit.  I  tell 
ye  she 's  feat'red  and  complected  like  the  PurV- 
t'ns  and  not  a  mite  like  the  Bordenses."  Mrs. 
Purington  sniffed  again,  and,  removing  the  apron 


AMONG  OLD  FEIENDS.  87 

from  her  eyes,  gazed  through  the  window  upon 
the  outer  world  as  if  it  alone  interested  her. 

"  Wai,  Sis,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  "  hev  ye  ever 
went  an'  got  lost  ag'in  ?  What  a  carrummux 
you  did  make,  tu  be  sure,  a-gittin'  lost.  But  it 
was  a  mighty  good  job  you  did  wi'out  you  're 
knowin'  't  was  the  best  you  ever  done,1'  and  he 
beamed  a  kindly  smile  upon  Sam  and  Huldah 
and  the  little  girl,  whose  finding  had  brought 
them  together. 

Presently  Mrs.  Purington's  vacant  stare  be 
came  focused  on  some  object  outside,  and  she 
exclaimed  in  a  tone  expressive  of  awakened  in 
terest  in  present  affairs  :  — 

"  Samwill  Lovel,  why,  fer  land's  sake,  don't  ye 
cuddaown  that  aire  lalock,  er  trim  it  up,  er  suth- 
in',  so  's  't  folks  c'n  see  the  pass  ?  Wai,  good 
ness  hev  massy,  if  that  aire  Antwine  Frenchman 
hain't  a-comin'.  I  was  jest  a-goin'  tu  ast  Uncle 
Lisher  and  Aunt  Jerushy  all  abaout  Westcon- 
stant  an'  all  the  folks  there,  an'  naow  there  won't 
be  a  chance  tu  put  in  a  word  aidgeways  wi'  his 
pleggid  French  gab.  Sis,  we  might  's  well  be  a- 
goin'." 

Antoine  Bissette  entered  without  ceremony, 
bearing  such  important  news  to  Sam  that  for  a 
moment  he  noted  the  presence  of  no  one  else. 

"  Hey,  Sam,  gat  you  gawn,  wha'  you  dawg  ? 
Dey  black  fox  jes  go  on  Bahlett  hwood  not  more 


88  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

as  two  hour  'go.  Mali  boy  he  '11  seen."  Then 
his  astonished  eyes  became  aware  of  his  old 
friends.  "  Oh-h-h !  One'  Lasha,  Aunt  Jerru- 
sha.  Was  you  be  ghos'  er  was  you  be  some- 
bodee,  er  was  Ah  '11  be  dream  ?  Ah  '11  never  see 
so,  'for  'stoneesh." 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas !  Take  a  holt  o'  my 
han',  Ann  Twine,  an'  find  aout  whether  I  'm  flesh 
an'  blood,"  cried  the  old  cobbler ;  and  his  vise- 
like  grasp  and  familiar  roar  left  no  cause  for 
doubt  of  his  actual  presence  in  the  flesh. 

"  Wai,  seh,  One'  Lasha,"  said  Antoine,  set 
tling  himself  together  on  a  chair  after  the  rough 
•encounter  of  greeting,  "  you  was  felt  pooty  'live 
anyway,  an'  you  '11  ant  gat  great  many  hoF  in  de 
wes'  bose  of  it.  No,  seh,  Aunt  Jerrusha  an'  you 
ant  look  no  more  hoF  you  was  free  year  'go. 
Bah  gosh,  Ah  '11  glad  of  it." 

"  Same  tu  you,  Ann  Twine,  an'  we  're  glad  tu 
git  back  an'  hev  all  aour  f rien's  glad  tu  see  us  — 
that  is,  most  on  'em,"  he  added,  recollecting  that 
Mrs.  Purington  might  wish  to  be  excepted,  and 
casting  a  sidewise  glance  at  her. 

"  You  need  n't  think  'at  I  begretch  ye  a  wel 
come,  Lisher  Peggs,  ef  I  be  begretched  it  in  my 
own  darter's  haouse  I "  she  said  in  a  grieved 
voice,  while  she  puckered  the  hem  of  her  orange 
and  blue  calico  apron  between  her  fingers. 

"  Wai,  wal,"  said  he,  "  ef  folks  did  n't  talk, 


AMONG  OLD  FRIENDS.  89 

they  would  n't  say  nothin',  an'  I  don't  take  no 
pride  in  what  you  said,"  and  then  turned  the 
conversation  again  into  the  pleasanter  channel 
whence  he  had  maladroitly  diverted  it. 

"  Wai,  Ann  Twine,  haow  's  yer  folks  an'  all 
the  child'n  ?  Fam'ly  growin',  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Wai,  Ah  do'  know,  One'  Lasha  ;  Ah  guess 
dey  ant  be  more  as  two  or  t'ree  of  it  more,  sin' 
you  '11  go  'way.  But  mah  holest  gal  he  '11  gat 
marree,  an'  he  '11  gat  bebbee,  an'  Ah  '11  gat  for 
be  grrran'poupa."  He  rolled  the  "  r "  of  this 
new  prefix  to  his  well  accustomed  title  as  if  its 
flavor  was  pleasant  to  his  tongue,  and  he 
straightened  himself  proudly  in  his  seat. 

"  You  a  gran'pa,"  Uncle  Lisha  said.  "  Good 
airth  an'  seas,  man,  you  '11  hafter  let  yer  baird 
grow  tu  tell  yerself  f'm  yer  gran'child." 

"  Ah  '11  can  tol'  it  bah  de  nowse,"  Antoine 
laughed.  "  He  '11  ant  spik  Angleesh  yit,  an' 
prob'ly  he  '11  ant  never  spik  it  lak  Ah  '11  was," 
he  added  with  a  sigh  that  had  something  of  satis 
faction  in  it. 

"  It 's  hopesin'  he  won't,"  said  Uncle  Lisha. 

If  Antoine  understood  this  disparaging  remark 
he  did  not  heed  it,  but  went  on  :  "  An'  Ah  '11 
fregit  for  tol'  you  mah  fam'ly  been  grow  on 
t'  udder  en'  of  it.  Mah  fader  an'  mudder  come 
for  leeve  'long  to  me." 

"  What,  you  ben  gettin'  on  ye  a  father  ?    Was 


90  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

he  borned,  tew,  sen'  I  went  away?  You  didn't 
uster  hev  none,  an'  I  did  n't  s'pose  you  ever  hed 
one  in  the  nat'ral  way,  but  they  kinder  faound 
ye  in  a  kittle  o'  pea  soup." 

44  Oh,  One'  Lasha,  Ah  '11  'fraid  you  '11  ant 
growed  gooder  no  more  as  you  '11  grow  holer. 
Ah  11  'fraid  you  '11  ant  go  to  meetin's  in  de  Wes'. 
Prob'ly  dey  '11  ant  gat  some  dere  yet,  hein  ?  No, 
sah,  One'  Lasha,  Sam  fin'  mah  fader  an'  mudder 
daown  to  de  lake  w'en  we  was  go  feeshin',  an'  it 
was  sup-prise  of  all  of  it.  An'  den,  bombye, 
Ah  '11  have  it  hoi'  man's  an'  hoi'  hwoman's  come 
leeve  long  to  me  an'  Ursule  an'  Ah  '11  was  glad 
for  be  liable  ta'  care  of  it,  me." 

"  Thet  's  right,  Ann  Twine,"  said  Uncle  Lisha 
heartily,  "  an'  don't  ye  never  gig  back  on  yer  ol' 
folks."  A  shade  of  sadness  flitted  across  the  old 
man's  kindly  face,  and  his  wife  breathed  a  sup 
pressed  sigh. 

"  All  '11  goin'  brought  hoi'  man  over  for  see 
you  pooty  soon,"  Antoine  went  011,  as  he  whittled 
a  charge  of  homegrown  tobacco  from  a  twist  and 
ground  it  in  his  palm.  "  An'  gat  you  for  mek  it 
some  boot,  so  he  can  beegin  for  be  Yankee.  An' 
Ah  '11  can  mek  you  laughed  for  hear  Sam  talk 
French  at  it.  Bah  gosh,  he  '11  holler  at  it  so  you 
can  hear  it  in  de  Forge  w'en  he  goin'.  An'  he 
t'ink  'f  he  can  holler  laoud  'nough  hoi'  man's  can' 
help  for  on'stan,  prob'ly." 


AMONG   OLD  FRIENDS.  91 

"  Antwine,"  said  Sam,  threatening  the  Cana 
dian  with  the  empty  cider  tumbler,  and  then  filL 
ing  it  for  him,  "  don't  ye  poke  no  fun  at  my 
French.  It 's  the  geniwine  article,  an'  thet  's  the 
reason  you  Canucks  don't  onderstan'  it.  Ef  you 
was  tu  go  tu  France,  you  'd  hear  'em  a-speakin' 
on  't  jest  as  I  du." 

"  If  dey  spik  it  jes'  sem  as  you  was,"  said  An- 
toine,  briefly  disposing  of  the  cider,  "  Ah  can  go 
daown  on  de  shore  of  de  nocean  an'  heard  it. 
Wai,  you  '11  goin'  after  dat  black  fox  to-day, 
prob'ly?" 

"  Who  seen  it  ?  "  Sam  demanded. 

"  Joe  Hill  tol'  me  he  '11  seen  it  an'  he  tol'  me 
come  tol'  you,  but  mah  'pinion  he  was  lie  jes'  for 
sup-prise  me  of  One'  Lasha.  Wai,  Ah  11  be  go, 
naow."  And  having  fired  his  pipe  with  a  coal, 
he  went  his  way,  leaving  a  long,  odorous  wake  of 
rank  tobacco  smoke  trailing  far  behind  him. 

"  An'  we  must  be  goin',  tew,  Sis,"  said  Mrs. 
Purington,  "  I  hain't  hed  a  chance  tu  say  a  word, 
but  I  must  go." 

"  Why  no,  mother,"  Huldah  protested,  "  you 
an'  Sis  must  stay  tu  dinner." 

"  No,  no,  I  got  tu  git  back  an'  git  his  dinner 
an'  it 's  a-gittin'  late.  I  on'y  come  over  tu  chirk 
ye  up,  as  I  hope  I  hev  at  last,  an'  ask  ye  all  tu 
come  over  tu  Thanksgivin'  tu-morrer  tu  aour 
haouse.  We  hain't  goin'  tu  hev  no  gret,  jest  a 


92  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

turkey  an'  some  high  bush  cranb'ry  sass  an* 
punkin  pie  an  sech,  but  sech  as  't  is  we  want  ye 
tu  jine  us,  all  on  ye." 

44  "We  wa'n't  cal'latin*  tu  go  home  this  year 
nor  nowheres,"  Huldah  began  faintly  objecting. 

44  Wai,  you  got  tu  come.  He 's  clean  sot  on  it 
an'  you  must  come.  Aunt  Jerushy  an'  Uncle 
Lisher,  we  want  the  privilege  o'  fillin'  ye  up  tu 
start  on  wi'  sech  as  we  've  got.  An'  you  must 
come,  tew,  Timothy." 

There  was  general  assent,  and  so,  having  made 
hospitable  amends  for  the  discomfort  she  had 
created,  she  departed.  Panting  as  she  gathered 
headway  in  her  course  across  lots,  she  reminded 
Uncle  Lisha  vividly  of  the  fussy  little  steamer 
that  towed  him  to  the  last  port  of  his  recent 
voyage. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   COUNTRY   POST-OFFICE. 

THANKSGIVING  festivities  were  over,  and  Uncle 
Lisha  had  been  several  days  among  his  old  neigh 
bors,  yet  in  deference  to  them,  as  in  turn  they 
were  his  entertainers  and  guests,  and  to  himself 
as  a  returned  traveler,  he  continued  to  wear  his 
best  clothes  with  heroic  endurance  of  discomfort. 

"  I  ben  dressed  up  so  long  I  begin  to  feel  like 
a  minister,"  he  said,  as  he  rapped  the  ashes  from 
his  pipe  on  Sam's  stove  hearth  one  morning  when 
he  had  finished  his  after-breakfast  smoke.  "  Ef 
I  don't  shuck  myself  aouten  my  t'  other  clones 
pooty  soon,  I  shall  be  a-preachin'  er  duin'  suthin' 
onbecomin'." 

"  Sho,  Lisher,  no  you  won't  nuther,"  said  his 
wife,  casting  an  admiring  glance  upon  him,  and 
then  fluttering  across  to  remove  a  speck  of  lint 
from  his  trousers  with  a  moistened  forefinger* 
"  But  you  have  got  tu  take  'em  off,  Lisher  Peggs. 
There  's  a  gret  grease  spot  half  way  t'  yer  knee 
That's  some  o'  Mis'  Pur'n't'n's  Thanksgivin' 
turkey's  gravy.  An'  you  got  a  gaub  o'  punkin 
pie  on  your  weskit.  It 's  a  massy  you  did  n't  hev 
yer  cut  on,  er  you  'd  ha'  spilte  it." 


94  DsiNVIS  FOLKS. 

"  Ketch  me  a-tacklin'  Thanksgivin'  wi'  my  cut 
on.  But  I  be  goin'  tu  shuck  my  high  duck  clo'es 
jest  as  soon 's  I  go  tu  Solern's  an*  Joel  Bartlett's 
an'  daown  t'  the  store.  I  '11  du  that  fust  I  du  du, 
but  fust  of  all  I  got  tu  seddaown  an'  write  George 
a  letter.  Hev  you  got  s'm  ink  an'  a  sheet  o' 
writin'  paper  an'  a  pen,  Huldy  ?  " 

Diligent  search  was  rewarded  by  the  discovery 
of  a  sheet  of  foolscap,  the  great  freestone  inkstand 
was  taken  down  from  the  mantel  and  its  half- 
dried  contents  diluted  with  water,  and  the  quill 
pen  made  last  winter  by  the  schoolmaster  was 
brought  from  its  long  rest  and  sucked  into  amen 
ity  of  possible  use.  When  the  breakfast  table 
was  cleared  to  give  Uncle  Lisha  an  ample  place 
for  operations,  he  drew  his  chair  to  it,  hooked  his 
toes  inside  the  front  legs,  set  his  elbows  wide 
apart  on  the  table,  and,  fencing  in  the  paper  with 
his  arms,  glared  down  upon  it  as  if  he  would  com 
pel  the  words  of  his  message  to  appear  on  the 
blank  surface. 

Except  the  baby  and  the  hound,  each  member  of 
the  little  audience  had  at  infrequent  intervals 
suffered  the  pain  of  letter-writing,  and  they 
awaited  in  sympathetic  silence  the  first  throes 
of  the  old  man's  self-imposed  torture,  wherein 
hand  and  brain  bore  equal  part.  Aunt  Jerusha's 
needles  clicked  almost  inaudibly,  scarcely  a  clatter 
of  the  dishes  in  the  pan  denoted  Huldah's  occu- 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  95 

pation,  while  Timothy  Lovel  performed  the 
usually  noisy  operation  of  feeding  the  fire  without 
a  sound,  and  Sam  as  silently  drew  the  slide  to  get 
a  coal  for  his  pipe. 

When  Uncle  Lisha  had  reckoned  the  day  of 
the  month  on  his  fingers,  he  probed  the  depths  of 
the  inkstand  with  his  pen  and  entered  with  cau 
tious  determination  upon  his  labor.  Except  for  the 
slower  movement,  the  sound  of  his  pen-strokes  was 
much  like  that  of  his  flote  when  he  scraped  the 
pegs  from  the  inside  of  a  boot,  and,  as  he  pain 
fully  fashioned  each  letter,  his  tongue  went  about 
his  rounded  mouth,  and  he  emphasized  the  down 
strokes  with  a  corresponding  movement  of  his 
head.  Holding  the  first  line  for  inspection  half 
way  in  its  straggling  formation,  he  roared  out  in 
vexation  :  - 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas.  Ef  I  hain't  gone  an* 
writ  Danvis  the  24th." 

"  You  hain't,"  cried  Aunt  Jerusha,  darting 
from  her  seat  like  a  frightened  hen  and  fluttering 
over  to  his  side,  where  she  adjusted  her  spectacles 
and  scrutinized  his  work.  "  Why,  that  hain't 
nothin',  Lisher,  you  jest  write,  4of  November' 
arter  24,  or  jest  Nove.  for  short.  An'  that 's  a 
turrible  harnsome  D,  most  like  print." 

Mollified  by  this  compliment,  Lisha  set  about 
rectifying  his  mistake,  while  Aunt  Jerusha  went 
back  to  her  rocking-chair.  When  the  old  man 


96  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

was  fairly  settled  down  to  his  work,  Sam  and  his 
father  went  to  their  husking  in  the  barn,  and 
Iluldah,  having  finished  her  dishes,  sat  down  to 
sewing  and  a  whispered  conversation  with  Aunt 
Jerusha,  their  guarded  voices  and  the  buzzing  of 
the  last  bluebottle  fly  of  the  season  in  the  sunny 
window  quite  overborne  by  the  slow  scratching  of 
the  pen  and  the  vexed  ejaculations  of  the  writer 
when  there  was  an  uncommonly  vicious  splutter 
of  his  complaining  implement. 

"  There,"  he  cried  at  last,  with  a  great  sigh  ol 
relief,  "  I  've  got  to  the  eend  o'  the  dumb  turkey 
tracks.  They  look 's  ef  someb'dy  ben  shootin'  at 
'em  wi'  a  shotgun  all  the  way  along,"  he  com 
mented  as  he  scowled  upon  the  sheet  from  various 
points  of  view.  "Here,  Jerushy,  read  it  over, 
but  don't  ye  read  it  aout  laoud,  an'  then  see  ef 
you  c'n  du  it  up.  Women  's  handier  at  duin' 
up  'n  what  men  be.  They  're  uster  duin'  up 
sheets  an'  clo'es  ev'ry  week's  i'nin'." 

"  It 's  jest  like  printin',  Lisher  Peggs,  an'  I 
c'n  read  it  right  through,"  as  she  slowly  followed 
the  lines  to  the  end,  "  an'  I  do'  know  no  way  tu 
better  it  'thaout  you  spelt  Thanksgivin'  wi'  a  big 
T,  an'  I  do'  know  but  a  big  G  on  'caount  of  us 
bein'  so  thankf'l  tu  git  back." 

Envelopes  were  not  known  in  Danvis,  and  it 
needed  the  united  endeavors  of  the  old  couple  and 
Huldah  to  properly  fold  the  letter  and  to  tuck  it 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  97 

into  itself.  Then  Uncle  Lisha  lost  the  only  avail 
able  wafer  in  a  back  corner  of  his  mouth,  whence 
it  was  not  rescued  until  it  had  become  a  shapeless 
pulp,  and  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  seal  the 
missive  with  a  lump  of  spruce  gum  which  was 
stamped  with  the  handle  of  a  pegging  awl.  The 
superscription  was  written  and  carefully  dried 
over  the  stove.  Then  Uncle  Lisha  laid  the  letter 
into  the  crown  of  his  beaver  hat,  wadded  it  in 
place  with  his  bandanna,  put  the  hat  on  his  head, 
struggled  into  his  high-collared,  tight-sleeved  blue 
coat,  and  set  forth  toward  the  office  with  the 
dignity  due  to  his  important  mission. 

Though  his  feet  were  incased  in  his  tight  best 
boots,  the  familiar  path  was  pleasant  to  him  as  to 
his  eyes  were  all  the  wayside  objects,  the  old  wall 
parting  with  its  gray  lines  the  sumach  thickets, 
now  stripped  of  all  their  autumnal  glory  but  the 
enduring  scarlet  of  the  bobs,  the  rail  fence  zigzag 
ging  among  rank  goldenrods  whose  riches  were 
taking  flight  on  white  wings.  A  red  squirrel 
tacked  along  the  top  rails  in  alternate  nearer  and 
further  attendance  upon  him,  yet  keeping  contin 
ually  abreast  till  he  came  to  a  great  butternut- 
tree,  and,  scrambling  up  its  grooved  bark,  began 
jeering  at  his  wayfaring  comrade  as  impudently 
as  his  forebears  had  in  bygone  years.  His  gibes 
did  not  disturb  the  old  man's  equanimity  as  they 
might  have  ruffled  the  boy's.  He  smiled  up  at 


98  DAN  VIS    FOLKS. 

him  amusedly,  and  turned  the  squirrel's  mockery 
to  anger  by  picking  up  a  brown  nut  and  cracking 
it  on  the  big  rock  that  stood,  as  such  are  sure  to 
do,  the  convenient  adjunct  of  the  butternut- tree, 
and,  having  cracked  it,  ate  it  under  the  very  eyes 
of  the  self-assumed  owner  of  all  the  nuts  in 
Dan  vis. 

The  kernel  had  not  the  sweetness  of  those  that 
Lisha  had  hopelessly  stained  his  youthful  hands 
to  get  sixty  years  before,  yet  it  had  something  of 
the  sweetness  of  the  stolen  meat  and  he  assured 
himself :  — 

"  A  Danvis  but'nut  was  better  'n  one  o'  them 
Westconstant  shagbarks,  that,  big  as  they  was, 
cracked  disappointing  like  airthenware,  an'  was 
more  disapp'intin'  when  you  come  to  eat  'em." 

There  was  a  well-remembered  beech,  whose  un 
shed  golden-brown  leaves  were  beginning  to  bleach 
to  a  pale  tint,  wherein  a  flock  of  silently  industri 
ous  jays  displayed  brief  glimpses  of  bright  color. 
The  spread  of  its  wide  branches  and  the  girth  of 
its  huge  trunk  seemed  scarcely  increased  by  the 
many  years  of  lusty  growth  since  he  carved  the 
letters  "  E.  P."  and  "  J.  C."  entwined  in  a  love 
knot  on  the  smooth  bark,  yet  initials  and  emblem 
and  date  of  the  dead  old  year  were  moss-grown 
scars.  The  old  man  smiled  in  kindly  pity  on  the 
half-forgotten  folly  of  the  youthful  lover,  and 
then,  looking  about  to  see  that  no  one  saw  him, 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  99 

got  out  his  knife  and  scraped  the  moss  from  the 
letters  and  love  knot. 

Then  he  stumped  briskly  forward,  brushing  the 
frost-blackened  Mayweeds  with  hasty  footsteps 
till  he  was  startled  by  a  vagrant  partridge  that 
burst  from  a  clump  of  weeds  close  beside  him  and 
sailed  on  set  wings  away  to  the  woods. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
watched  the  bird's  arrowy  flight,  curving  down  to 
cover  at  the  woodside,  "  ye  might 's  well  kill  me 
as  skeer  me  tu  death.  Oh,  if  you  'd  sot  still  an' 
I  'd  seen  you  an'  hed  me  a  gun,  I  'd  ha'  got  you. 
An'  I  druther  hev  you  'n  tew  perairie  chickens." 

Crossing  a  little  bridge,  he  presently  came  to 
the  homestead  of  the  Goves,  on  whom  he  called 
and  found  a  warm  welcome.  After  Mrs.  Gove 
had  bustled  about  to  seat  the  visitor  in  the  most 
comfortable  chair  and  to  send  the  youngest  girl 
to  call  her  father  from  the  barn,  she  sat  down 
opposite  her  old  neighbor  and  devoted  a  few  mo 
ments  to  a  careful  consideration  of  his  appearance. 

"  Wai,  Uncle  Lisher,"  she  said,  with  an  exhal 
ation  of  satisfaction,  "lookin'  at  you,  an'  not 
lookin'  back,  it  don't  seem  's  'ough  you  'd  ben 
gone  six  mont's.  You  hain't  altered  a  mite.  An' 
is  Aunt  Jerushy  as  chirk  as  you  be  ?  I  wanter 
know  !  Well,  the  Western  kentry  has  agreed  wi' 
you,  oncommon." 

"  It  'greed  wi'  aour  health  better  'n  what  it  did 


100  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

wi'  aour  feelin's.  We  toughed  it  aout  's  long  \ 
we  could  stan'  it  an'  back  we  come  tu  bother  aour 
ol'  neighbors  endurin'  the  rest  o'  aour  days.'*  His 
eyes  came  down  from  roving  along  the  limp 
skeins  of  pumpkin  hung  to  dry  upon  poles  above 
the  stove  and  settled  with  an  inquiring  look  upon 
her  face. 

"  You  hain't  never  bothered  nob'dy  an'  you 
won't  never,"  she  said  heartily,  and  then  bustling 
toward  the  door.  "  I  wonder  what 's  a-keepin' 
Levi ;  finishin'  a  bundle,  proberbly,  but  I  '11  go 
an'  git  him." 

"  No,  don't  ye.  I  can't  stop  but  a  minute,  an' 
I  '11  jest  g'  waout  an'  say  haow  de  du.  Fact 
on  't  is,"  he  said  impressively,  "  I  ben  writin'  a 
letter  'n  I  'm  a-kerryin'  of  it  tu  the  pos'-office. 
But  where  's  Peltier  ?  "  he  turned  at  the  door  to 
ask. 

A  troubled  look  overcast  Mrs.  Gove's  cheerful 
face.  "  I  do'  know  where  Peltier  is.  Mebby 
he  's  gone  lookin'  at  his  mink  traps,  an'  mebby 
he  's  over  tu — tu — the  village.  Peltier  's  in  a 
mis'able,  mopin'  way,  Uncle  Lisher.  He 's  ben 
dis'p'inted.  Expectin*  tu  marry  a  gal,  even  so 
fur 's  tu  go  tu  git  merried,  an'  she  was  gone  wi' 
another  feller,  an'  it  's  nigh  abaout  ondone  him. 
He  mopes  an'  he  goes  tu  Hamner's,  an'  I  'm 
afeared  he  drinks.  I  wish  't  you  'd  talk  tu  him, 
Uncle  Lisher,  he  allers  sot  so  much  by  ye,  mebby 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  101 

your  talkin'  'ould  'mount  tu  suthin'.  Me  V  his 
father  an'  Sam's  don't  take  no  holt  on  him." 

"  Peltier  was  allus  one  o'  my  boys,"  the  old 
man  said ;  "  I  made  him  his  fust  boots  an'  showed 
him  haow  tu  ketch  his  fust  traout,  an'  he  'd  hear 
to  me.  I  will  talk  tu  him,  Mis'  Gove." 

Levi  Gove  was  too  industriously  inclined  to 
quit  labor  for  visiting,  and  after  a  brief  but  loud 
interchange  of  greetings,  carried  on  amid  the  rus 
tle  of  cornstalks,  the  old  man  went  on  his  way  to 
the  store. 

There  he  found  the  merchant  and  postmaster, 
as  lank,  alert,  and  clean  shaven  as  ever,  and  as 
constantly  saying  '.'  Yes  "  in  varied  inflections  of 
assent  or  query,  and  effusive  in  the  cordiality  of 
his  welcome. 

The  contents  of  the  store  were  so  unchanged 
that  it  seemed  to  the  returned  wanderer  as  if 
trade  must  have  been  dull  during  the  three  years 
of  his  absence.  There  were  the  bunches  of  whip 
lashes,  the  home-made  hickory  stock  and  the  finer 
ones  covered  with  leather  or  braided  linen,  the 
two  strings  of  globular  Boston  bells  still  vainly 
inviting  customers  with  the  immovable  smile  of 
their  brazen  lips,  the  dusty,  fly-specked  tinware, 
the  placards  advertising  Sherman's  lozenges, 
which  it  was  declared  that  worm-affected  children 
cried  for,  and  Hive  Syrup,  Down's  Elixir  and 
Spavin  Cure,  all  displayed  in  the  dusty  windows 


102  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

just  as  he  had  left  them  when  he  had  no  expecta 
tion  of  ever  seeing  them  again.  ' 

The  whole  interior  was  almost  as  unchanged. 
The  cracks  in  the  rusty  sides  of  the  great  box 
stove  had  lengthened  a  little,  the  service  of  an 
other  crippled  chair  prolonged  by  nailing  a  strip 
of  shoebox  cover  athwart  its  legs,  the  incrusta 
tion  of  dust  a  little  thicker  on  the  floor,  the  pol 
ish  of  the  counters  a  trifle  heightened  by  the 
elbows  and  posteriors  of  customers  and  loungers, 
and  the  marks  of  their  heels  worn  deeper  on  the 
sides;  but  the  shelves  bore  the  same  rolls  of 
calicoes,  ginghams,  jeans,  hard-times,  and  cotton, 
and  at  the  top,  above  them,  out  of  danger  of 
breakage,  were  rows  of  blue-edged  plates  and 
figured  tea-sets,  paper  boxes  of  spool  thread,  and 
bundles  of  leather  and  yarn  mittens.  A  few 
loaves  of  sugar  in  dark  purple  paper  wrappings 
hung  from  a  beam  overhead,  beside  dust-pans, 
brushes,  brooms,  mopsticks,  and  washboards,  each 
in  its  familiar  place. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Peggs.  Haow  's  every 
thing  an'  everybody  aout  West,  Mr.  Peggs  ?  All 
a-gettin'  rich,  I  p'sume  to  say  ?  Yes  ?  A  great 
kentry,  but  you  did  n't  feel  tu  hum.  We  won't 
go  baek  on  ol'  V'mont,  will  we,  Mr.  Peggs? 
Leastways,  I  won't,  for  all  I  've  ben  tu  New 
York  city  an'  clean  into  the  weste'n  part  of  York 
State  ;  I  won't  go  back  on  my  natyve  State." 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  103 

Uncle  Lisher  sympathized  so  fully  in  this  alle 
giance  that  he  was  treated  to  a  glass  of  frothy 
mead,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  recollection  of  his 
most  important  business,  he  carefully  took  off  his 
hat  and  drew  forth  the  letter. 

"  There  's  a  letter,"  handing  it  to  the  postmas 
ter,  "  I  wanter  hev  go  tu  my  son,  George  Peggs, 
in  Wesconstant.  I  suppose  it  will  go  all  right, 
won't  it,  Mr.  Clapham?" 

The  postmaster  held  it  at  arm's  length  above 
the  level  of  his  eyes  and  scrutinized  it  from  that 
point  for  a  while,  then  laid  it  on  the  counter,  and, 
leaning  over  it  on  his  elbows,  as  intently  scruti 
nized  it  from  above. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Peggs,"  he  said  confidently,  "  that 
letter  '11  go  tu  its  deestination,  without  a  daoubt. 
Yes,  wonderful  tu  think  on,  hain't  it,"  as  he 
slowly  wrote  the  postmark  on  the  corner  of  the 
letter,  "  haow  a  message  can  go  from  here  to  the 
far  distant  West  in  ten  days  or  a  f ortnit  ?  Yes, 
eighteen  and  three-quarter  cents  is  the  postige 
your  son  '11  hafter  pay,  which  he  won't  begretch 
it,  for  hearin'  from  his  ven'able  parents." 

"  It 's  a  dumbd  sight  more  'n  its  wuth  to  read, 
but  I  would  n't  ha'  writ  it  for  that.  I  'd  ruther 
tap  tew  pair  o'  boots." 

When  the  letter  was  safely  deposited  in  the 
drawer  devoted  to  outgoing  mail  matter,  Uncle 
Lisha  readjusted  his  spectacles  and  inspected 


104  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

the  contents  of  the  showcase  that  stood  on  the 
end  of  the  counter,  flanked  by  a  wooden  bowl  of 
flints  that  still  held  their  place  against  the  in 
vading  percussion  caps.  The  glass-covered  trea 
sures  were,  as  of  old,  several  pairs  of  yellow, 
wooden  pocket-combs,  shutting  into  each  other, 
jewsharps  on  three-cornered  wooden  blocks,  an 
array  of  jack-knives  with  checked  bone  handles, 
half  a  dozen  razors,  a  tin  shaving-cup  with  a 
square  compartment  built  out  one  side,  some 
cakes  of  perfumed  soap,  bundles  of  fish  line,  a 
box  of  very  much  mixed  hooks,  and  paper  boxes 
of  caps,  emblazoned  with  the  letters  "  G.  D."  and 
an  inscription  said  to  be  in  French,  which  some 
doubted,  for  Antoine  could  not  translate  it  when 
it  was  read  to  him.  Beside  these  still  lay  the 
spring-top  copper  powder  flask,  a  little  more  worn 
by  the  handling  of  impecunious  admirers,  and  its 
companion  in  unsalableness,  the  wonderful  shot 
pouch  with  a  brass  charger,  both  too  expensive 
for  the  Danvis  market.  There  was  an  exhibition 
of  the  choicest  candy  of  the  establishment,  sticks 
with  red  and  white  spiral  bands,  bullseyes  of  like 
variegation,  and  sugar  hearts  so  big  and  sweet 
that  they  might  be  hoped  to  soften  the  heart  of 
any  maiden. 

"  See  anything  you  'd  like  to  purchase,  Mr. 
Peggs  ?  "  and  Clapham  sidled  behind  the  counter 
and  examined  the  contents  of  the  showcase  as 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  105 

interestedly  as  if  he  had  just  discovered  it,  "  them 
razors,  naow,  is  fust  chop.  I  've  used  one  of  'em 
four  year  an'  it 's  as  good  as  't  was  the  fust  day. 
Yes  ?  Wore  out  yourn  a-travelin'  ?  "  and  while 
speaking  he  took  out  a  razor  and  combed  his 
scanty  locks  with  his  fingers.  Having  selected  a 
hair  from  the  harvest  thus  secured,  he  succeeded 
in  splitting  it  after  several  efforts.  "  It 's  keen 
as  a  brier.  Yourn  all  right  ?  Yes  ?  I  p'sume 
to  say  the  one  't  I  sold  you.  Them  's  abaout  the 
best  combs  't  I  ever  hed  in  my  store.  They 
kinder  coax  aout  snarls  'thout  pullin'.  Yes, 
shavin'-brushes.  That  shavin'-soap  '11  make  la 
ther  'at  a  cat  '11  eat  for  cream  an'  never  know  the 
diffunce  till  she 's  troubled  wi'  wind  on  her 
stomerk." 

"  I  guess  I  don't  want  none.  It 's  tew  high 
duck  parfume  tu  go  with  the  smell  o'  sole  luther. 
What 's  these  'ere  sugar  hearts  wuth  ?  "  he  asked, 
tapping  the  glass  above  them  with  his  forefinger. 

"  Them  's  a  cent  apiece  ;  haow  many  shall  I  put 
7*  up?" 

"  I  guess  I  '11  git  one  on  'em  fer  Samwill's  boy, 
as.*'  I  guess  I  '11  git  a  cent's  wuth  o'  snuff  fer 
Jerushy,  an',  lemme  see,  a  snuff  bean,  she  lost 
Kern  a  comin'  hum." 

While  the  storekeeper  wrapped  the  articles  in 
icugal  bits  of  newspaper,  Uncle  Lisha's  roving 
eyes  alighted  upon  a  bundle  of  furs  dangling  from 


106  DsiNVIS    FOLKS. 

a  nail  in  the  back  part  of  the  room,  and  being  of 
the  fraternity  of  hunters,  his  interest  was  at  once 
aroused. 

"Buyin'  some  furs,  be  ye?"  he  asked,  going 
over  to  the  peltry  and  handling  skin  after  skin  of 
muskrat,  mink,  raccoon,  and  fox,  and  parting  the 
fur  of  each  with  his  breath. 

"  Wai,  not  to  no  great  extent  yet,"  said  Clap- 
ham,  coming  to  him  with  the  parcels.  "Fur 
hain't  none  tu  prime  yet,  but  I  take  it  off  folkses 
hands  jest  tu  'commerdate.  But  there  's  one  re 
markable  fine  skin,  Mr.  Peggs,  remarkable  and 
oncommon,"  and  he  drew  out  a  dark  gray  skin 
and  displayed  it  with  great  pride  while  Uncle 
Lisha  readjusted  his  spectacles  for  a  close  inspec 
tion. 

"  That  is  a  mighty  harnsome  coon-skin ;  I  do' 
Know  's  ever  I  see  a  darker  one." 

"  Coon-skin,  Mr.  Peggs  ?  I  'm  s'prised  thet  a 
ivan  of  your  experience  an'  jedgment  should  call 
that  a  coon.  It 's  a  gray  fox,  sir,  and  I  paid  the 
vally  of  half  a  dozen  coon-skins  fer  it." 

"  Mebby,  but  I  never  seen  a  fox  wi'  rings  on 
Ids  tail." 

"  It 's  a  peculiarity  o'  the  gray  fox,"  insisted 
Oapham. 

Uncle  Lisha  only  snorted  his  disbelief  as  he  re 
placed  his  glasses  in  their  steel  case  and  shut  it 
with  an  emphatic  snap. 


THE    COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  107 

A  bloomer  off  duty  at  the  forge  came  lounging 
in,  and  to  him  the  merchant  appealed  for  some 
admiration  of  his  late  acquisition. 

"  It 's  a  pooty  fair  kind  of  a  coon-skin/'  said 
the  bloomer,  helping  himself  to  a  handful  of  chest 
nuts  from  a  half  bushel  that  stood  011  the  counter. 

"  It 's  a  gray  fox ;  I  bought  it  for  a  gray  fox, 
an'  that 's  what  it  is,"  Clapham  said  severely. 

An  amused  grin  spread  across  the  unwonted 
cleanliness  of  the  bloomer's  face.  "  Bought  it 
fer  a  gray  fox,"  and  his  brawny  form  doubled 
over  the  counter  in  a  fit  of  laughter  out  of  which 
he  ejaculated,  "  Oh,  by  Jeems  Price,  if  that  hain't 
a  good  one." 

The  sound  of  his  laughter  brought  in  others 
alert  for  anything  to  break  the  monotony  of  life, 
and  as  they  stared  from  one  to  another,  searching 
for  the  cause  of  mirth,  their  faces  assumed  a 
blankness  of  expectancy  ready  to  be  illumined 
with  a  laugh. 

"  Look  at  the  gray  fox-skin  that  Clapham' s  ben 
a-buyin',"  cried  the  bloomer,  pointing  at  the  skin 
which  its  owner,  though  no  longer  proud  of,  stood 
by  in  sullen  defiance. 

"  Du  you  pur  tend  tu  call  that  a  fox,  Mr.  Clap- 
ham  ? "  inquired  one,  and  getting  no  answer 
appealed  to  the  bloomer,  who  nodded  assent. 
"  Why,  good  land  o'  massy,  't  ain't  nothin'  but  a 
darned  ol'  dog  coon."  With  a  universal  assent 


108  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

to  this  verdict  the  company  broke  into  a  boister 
ous  laugh.  At  the  first  lull  of  merriment  Clap- 
ham  snatched  down  the  questionable  peltry  and 
said  with  savage  solemnity,  "  It 's  a  gray  fox,  gen 
tlemen,  but  it 's  makin'  altogether  too  much  talk 
an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  keep  it  on  exhibition  no 
longer,"  and  throwing  it  spitefully  up  the  stair 
way  to  the  chamber,  he  slammed  the  door  and 
shut  off  further  inspection. 

Amid  a  renewed  burst  of  merriment  Uncle 
Lisha  withdrew  quietly  and  took  his  way  home 
ward.  As  he  plodded  past  the  Gove  homestead 
the  wandering  thoughts  that  bore  him  company 
turned  toward  his  young  friend  Pelatiah.  He 
cast  a  searching  glance  about  the  premises,  half 
hoping  and  yet  half  fearing  that  he  might  dis 
cover  him,  for  he  shrank  from  the  duty  to  which 
he  was  committed. 

"  I  s'pose  I  'd  ort  tu  stop  an'  find  the  boy  an' 
give  him  a  talkin'  tu,  tu  rights,"  he  soliloquized, 
"  but  I  guess  I  'd  better  wait  an'  ketch  him 
kinder  accidental.  This  'ere  cornerin'  a  feller  up 
an'  rammin'  advice  intu  him  somehaow  don't  make 
it  set  so  well  as  it  does  to  kinder  coax  it  intu  him 
julluk  a  pill  in  a  spo'ful  of  apple  sass." 

He  quickened  his  pace  till  he  had  passed  the 
house  and  come  to  the  little  bridge  that  spanned 
Stony  Brook.  As  he  lingered  there  idly  watch 
ing  the  flow  of  the  stream  whose  every  bend  and 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  109 

purling  rapid  and  trout-haunted  pool  he  knew  as 
well  as  the  corners  of  his  old  shop,  and  listening 
to  its  changing  babble,  familiar  to  his  ear  as  the 
thud  of  the  hammer  on  his  own  lapstone,  he  dis 
tinguished  amid  its  liquid  tones  the  sharp,  metallic 
clink  of  a  trap  chain,  coming,  as  a  moment's  lis 
tening  assured  him,  from  directly  beneath  the 
bridge. 

"  Someb'dy  's  ketched  a  mink  er  a  mushrat," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  V  I  'm  goin'  tu  meddle  wi' 
other  folkses  business  tu  the  extent  o'  puttin'  the 
poor  creetur  aouten  his  misery." 

He  descended  to  the  bank,  picking  up  a  conven 
ient  cudgel  as  he  went.  When  he  peered  into 
the  dark  shadow  of  the  bridge  he  was  not  a  little 
startled  to  discover  the  figure  of  a  man  sharply 
defined  against  the  light.  He  was  kneeling  on  the 
gravel  between  the  abutment  and  the  stream,  so 
intently  engaged  in  setting  a  trap  that  he  was 
not  aware  of  an  intruder  till  Uncle  Lisha  tossed 
a  pebble  at  his  feet.  The  old  man  felt  pretty 
sure  of  the  trapper's  identity,  and  was  not  sur 
prised  when  Pelatiah's  face  was  suddenly  turned 
toward  him  with  an  expression  of  wonder  over 
bearing  its  now  habitual  ruefulness. 

His  own  silhouette,  fore-shortened  as  he 
stooped  beneath  the  low  bridge,  bracing  his  hands 
upon  his  knees,  was  not  recognized  at  first,  but 
there  was  no  mistaking  his  hearty  hail,  "Good 


110  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

airth  an'  seas !  Peltier,  don't  ye  know  yer  Uncle 
Lisher  ?  "  resounding  with  exaggerated  volume 
through  the  narrow  passage. 

Pelatiah  left  the  half-set  trap  and  came  crouch 
ing  forth,  brushing  his  soiled  palm  on  his  thigh 
in  preparation  for  the  vigorous  hand-shaking  that 
awaited  him.  When  greetings  were  exchanged 
the  two  seated  themselves  on  projections  of  the 
abutment  and  surveyed  each  other  with  kindly 
scrutiny. 

"  You  hain't  growed  old  a  mite,"  said  Pelatiah. 

"  I  Ve  ben  a-growin'  young  sen'  I  come  back 
makin'  up  what  I  lost  in  three  year." 

44  An'  Aunt  Jerushy,  is  she  tollable  well  ?  " 

"  Jest  as  smart  as  a  cricket,  an'  tickled  tu 
death  tu  git  back  hum  again.  An'  haow  's  things 
goin'  wi'  you,  Peltier ;  well,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  My  health 's  good  'nough,"  said  Pelatiah, 
sighing  as  if  that  were  an  affliction,  but  Uncle 
Lisha  did  not  heed  it. 

"  Trappin'  some,  be  ye  ?  " 

u  Some  ;  got  a  few  traps  sot  f er  mink  an'  mush- 
rat.  The'  's  a  mink  a-ha'iitin'  raound  this  'ere 
bridge." 

"  I  heerd  your  trap  a-jinglin'  an'  thinks,  says  I, 
the'  's  suthin'  er  'nother  sufferin'  intu  a  trap  an' 
1  'm  a-goin'  tu  be  marciful  an'  kill  it,  ef  'taint  a 
skunk.  My  marcy  don't  extend  tu  skunks,  erless 
I  've  got  a  gun.  It 's  tough  for  any  creetur  tu  be 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  Ill 

in  a  trap,  whether  no  he 's  humern  or  a  dumb 
critter.  Both  git  intu  'em,  an',  more  times  'an  not< 
the'  hain't  no  gittin'  aout,  on'y  by  death  er  takin' 
off  a  laig.  Most  any  dumb  critter  'd  ruther  git 
free  at  the  price  of  a  laig  er  foot  'an  tu  stay  an' 
die  er  be  knocked  in  the  head,  an'  they  're  sensibler 
'an  lots  o'  folks  which  they  '11  jest  hump  theirselves 
an'  grunt  an'  squall  er  flummix  permisc'us  till 
they  git  t'  other  foot  an'  like  's  not  both  han's  intu 
another  trap,  an'  there  they  be.  The  grip  o'  the 
trap  gits  sorer  and  sorer,  an'  they  quit  a-pullin* 
an'  give  clean  up,  which  hain't  no  way  fer  a  man 
tu  du."  The  old  man  beamed  a  kindly  smile 
upon  his  companion,  who  sat  with  downcast  eyes, 
slowly  grinding  the  gravel  beneath  the  heel  of  his 
cowhide  boot,  upon  which  Uncle  Lisha's  eyes 
finally  fell,  to  note  with  displeasure  that  it  was 
ripped  and  red  for  lack  of  grease. 

"  An'  you  've  goddaown  tu  buyin'  store  boots. 
Goo'  fer  nothin'  things,  made  aouten  split  luther 
an'  stuck  tugether  wi'  short  paigs.  An'  the  idee 
of  a  feller  'at  ketches  mushrat,  an'  hes  their  ile, 
lettin'  his  boots  git  as  red  as  a  fox's  tail."  He 
evidently  thought  Pelatiah  in  a  desperate  strait 
and  spoke  with  such  sudden  sharpness  that  the 
young  man  was  startled  from  his  listless  attitude. 
"  But  you  come  up,"  he  said  with  less  asperity, 
"  an'  lemme  take  the  measure  o'  yer  hommels  an' 
I  '11  make  ye  suthin'  'at  you  '11  know  you  've  got  on 


112  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

when  you  wear  'em,  an'  that  '11  be  wuth  spendin* 
a  leetle  ile  on."  Then,  almost  without  pause,  he 
said,  irrelevantly,  "  Why,  Peltier,  from  what  I 
heerd  I  'spected  tu  find  you  merried  an'  settled 
daown,  stiddy."  Pektiah  flushed  and  made  a 
quick,  impatient  movement.  "  Wa'n't  you  ex- 
pectin'  tu,  one  spell  ?  " 

"Ef  I  was,  I  hain't  naow,  nor  never  shall 
ag'in,"  the  young  man  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Why,  what 's  the  motter  ails  ye  ?  Merryin'  's 
a  good  thing  when  ye  find  the  right  one." 

"  Haow  in  tunket  's  a  feller  goin'  tu  tell  when 
he  hes  ?  "  Pelatiah  asked,  rising  in  such  excite 
ment  that  he  bumped  his  head  against  the  planks 
and  sat  down  as  suddenly  as  he  had  risen. 

"  Hurt  yer  head  much  ?  " 

"  Wisht  I  'd  knocked  the  dumb  thing  off  'n  my 
shoulders,"  he  replied  savagely.  "  Haow 's  a 
feller  goin'  tu  tell  ?  That 's  what  I  'd  like  tu 
know.  I  thought  I  'd  faound  the  right  one,  an'  I 
thought  more  on  her  'an  all  the  hull  world.  I 
worshiped  the  airth  she  walked  on.  She  might 
ha'  walked  on  me  —  she  did  pooty  nigh,  an'  I  was 
praoud  tu  hev  her.  An'  I,  dumb  fool,  thought 
she  liked  me  jest  as  much.  Mebby  she  did,  fer  a 
spell,  an'  thought  she  'd  faound  her  mate,  —  it 's 
hopesin  she  wa'n't  foolin'  me  the  hull  endurin' 
tune,  —  an'  then  'at  she  had  n't.  She  promised  tu 
hev  me  an'  we  was  a-goin'  tu  be  merried,  an'  the 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  113 

time  was  sot,  an'  then  at  the  last  minute  she  went 
off  wi'  another  feller  an'  —  an'  I  s'pose  they  're 
merried,  but  I  can't  seem  tu  think  on  her  as 
belongin'  tu  nob'dy  else.  She  'd  ort  tu  suffer 
some,  but  I  hope  she 's  happier  'n  what  I  be.  She 
might  be,  an'  yit  be  in  hell." 

"  You  hed  bad  luck,  Peltier,  but  all  women 
hain't  alike." 

"  The'  hain't  none  no  better  'n  she  was," 
Pelatiah  said  vehemently.  "  The'  wa'n't  never 
one  harnsomer,  an'  haow  could  there  be  one  bet 
ter  otherways  ?  They  're  all  fickleder  'n  the  wind 
that  blows,  an'  lighter  'an  the  blubbers  on  this 
brook." 

"'T  ain't  no  sech  a  thing,"  said  Uncle  Lisha, 
emphasizing  each  word  with  a  downward  jerk  of 
his  head.  "  I  Ve  roosted  wi'  one  womern  goin' 
on  tow-ards  forty  year  that  's  ben  faithful  an' 
true  all  them  years,  an'  ther  's  lots  more  o'  the 
same  sort,  f er  I  don't  cal'late  I  'm  the  on'y  lucky 
man  on  the  livin'  airth.  You  got  intu  a  trap 
nat' rally  'nough,  bein'  't  was  baited  wi'  a  pooty 
face,  an'  it  kinder  leggo,  an'  naow  ye  c'n  shake  a 
loose  foot  which  you  'd  ort  tu  be  thankful  it 
didn't  take  a  laig,  so  tu  speak,  er  mebby  yer 
life." 

"  It  might  's  well.  I  wisht  it  hed,"  said  Pela 
tiah,  grinding  the  gravel  away  savagely  with  his 
heel. 


114  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"Sho,  no,  you  don't,  nuther.  Say,  Peltier, 
what  d'  ye  du  wi'  yer  fur  ?  Sell  it  tu  Clapham, 
du  ye  ?  You  did  n't  sell  him  that  'aire  gray 
fox  ?  " 

Pelatiah  could  not  witlihold  a  laugh.  "  No, 
that  was  a  feller  f'm  over  the  maountain." 

"  You  du  seU  tu  Clapham?  " 

"  No,  Hamner  's  hed  most  on  't." 

"  Hamner  ?     He  don't  pay  cash  ?  " 

"  No  ; "  but  Pelatiah  did  not  look  up. 

"  Look  a-here,  Peltier  Gove,"  said  the  old  man 
impressively,  "  you  're  a-flummuxin'  intu  a  wus 
trap  'n  the  fust  one  was,  a-tryin'  tu  draowned  yer 
trouble  wi'  rum,  'specially  Hamner's  pizen. 
Rum  may  cure  a  belly-ache,  but  not  never  a  heart 
ache,  not  tu  stay  cured.  It  '11  numb  it  fer  a 
spell,  but  it  '11  make  it  come  on  wus  'n  ever,  an' 
need  heftier  dostin  every  time  tu  numb  it  ag'in. 
I  do'  know  haow  long  you  ben  a-tryin'  on  't,  but 
I  du  know  'at  you  've  faound  it  jest  's  I  tell  ye. 
An'  you  've  got  tu  stop  it  right  stret  off  er  you  're 
a  gone  sucker.  Right  stret  off.  Not  no  foolin' 
wi'  one  more  drink,  ner  no  tu-morrers,  ner  birth 
days,  ner  New  Years,  ner  leavin'  off  gradwil. 
It  '11  be  a  tough  job,  but  you  c'n  du  it.  Shet 
your  maouth  as  tight  as  if  't  was  sewed  up  wi'  a 
waxed  eend,  an'  don't  ye  onrip  it  fer  no  coaxin', 
inside  er  aout.  You  Ve  got  tu  du  the  job  yer- 
Belf ,  not  but  what  God  A'mighty  '11  help  ye,  but 


THE  COUNTRY  POST-OFFICE.  115 

you  Ve  got  tu  boost,  tew.  I  cal'late  'f  the'  's  go- 
in'  tu  be  any  prayin'  done,  a  feller  hed  better  du 
it  f er  himself.  It  '11  'maount  tu  more  'n  all  the 
ministers  this  side  o'  kingdom  come,  a-prayin'  for 
him.  An'  naow  I  've  said  my  say,  an'  you  c'n 
go  on  settin'  your  mink  trap.  Bait  it  wi'  mush- 
rat  'f  you  've  got  it,  it 's  better  'n  fish.  Don't 
forgit  what  I  've  said  tu  ye,  an'  come  an'  see 
Aunt  Jerushy  soon  's  you  can.  I  shall  git  settled 
daown  tu  work  in  tew,  three  days,  an'  I  want  all 
on  ye  tu  come  in,  jest  as  ye  uster  in  th'  ol'  shop. 
Good-by." 

He  stooped  his  way  out  with  due  care  for  his 
head  and  its  precious  covering,  and  clambering  to 
the  roadway  resumed  his  homeward  course. 

"  There,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  I  've 
gi'n  the  boy  his  pill.  I  d'  know  but  I  forgot 
the  apple  sass,  but  it 's  hopesin  it  won't  set  bad 
an  '11  du  him  good." 

Pelatiah  sat  long  after  his  old  friend  left  him, 
with  his  chin  upon  his  hands,  staring  abstractedly 
on  the  swift  current  of  the  brook,  in  whose  voice 
he  seemed  to  hear  the  kindly  words  of  advice 
repeated  again  and  again.  When  he  arose  and 
resumed  the  setting  of  his  trap  his  face  wore  a 
stronger  and  more  hopeful  expression. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   PARING-BEE. 

NEXT  morning  Uncle  Lisha  laid  aside  his  holi 
day  attire  with  a  sense  of  great  relief  from  the 
constraint  and  care  which  their  wearing  had  im 
posed  upon  him,  and  put  on  his  ordinary  garb 
with  the  comfortable  feeling  of  being  rehabili 
tated  in  his  real  self.  Making  such  haste  with 
his  breakfast  that  Aunt  Jerusha  said  he  was  "  in 
a  bigger  hurry  'n  a  boy  a-goin'  a-fishm',"  he  put 
on  his  leather  apron  and  set  about  the  odd  jobs 
of  mending  for  the  family. 

Sam  and  his  father  went  out  to  their  husking, 
and  the  door  between  the  kitchen  and  the  shop 
being  opened,  that  the  old  man  might  have  the 
companionship  of  the  women  folks,  the  house 
presently  rang  with  the  merry  thud  of  the  ham- 
mer  on  his  lapstone. 

Huldah  was  paring  apples  with  a  worn-out  shoe 
knife  discarded  from  Uncle  Lisha's  kit,  and  Aunt 
Jerusha  quartered  and  cored  them  with  frugal 
care  that  the  least  possible  share  should  go  to  the 
pigs,  while  the  baby  made  frequent  excursions  on 
all  fours  between  the  two  great  objects  of  interest 
presented  by  the  two  industries. 


THE  PAEING-BEE.  117 

Now  he  brought  a  chubby  fistful  of  stolen  shoe 
pegs  to  his  mother's  knee,  then  made  restitution 
to  the  owner  with  a  slice  of  apple,  begrimed  by 
repeated  contact  with  the  floor  during  its  trans 
portation. 

"  Why,  yes,  bub,"  said  the  old  man,  beaming 
down  a  kindly  glance  through  his  round  glasses 
upon  the  upturned  baby  face  as  he  took  the  prof 
fered  gift  and  laid  it  on  the  bench  beside  him, 
"  it 's  turrible  nice,  but  Uncle  Lisher  don't  'pear 
tu  feel  like  eatin'  on  't  jest  naow.  He  hain't  ap 
ple  hungry ;  guess  he  eat  tew  much  breakfus'  er 
suthin'.  Ta'  keer.  Don't  put  hisleetle  hanny 
ont'  the  lapstun.  Git  it  smashed  finer  'n  a  barn. 
No,  bubby,  could  n't  hev  the  wax.  Gaum  him 
all  up  so  't  mammy  'd  hafter  nigh  abaout  skin  him 
tu  git  him  clean  ag'in ;  an'  haow  she  would  scold 
both  on  us,  an'  haow  we  would  cry,  would  n't  we  ? 
Here,  take  a  pooty  paig  to  Aunt  Jerushy  an'  ask 
her  'f  she  ever  see  sech  a  cur'osity.  Clipper, 
naow." 

"  Thank  ye,  a  thaousan'  times,  you  darlin'  cree- 
tur,"  cried  Aunt  Jerusha,  when  the  child  had 
scrambled  to  her  with  his  gift.  "  I  never  see  a 
neater  paig  an'  I  'm  a-goin'  tu  keep  it  tu  hev  me 
a  shoe  made.  These  'ere  apples  seems  ef  they  was 
gittin'  turrible  meller,  Huldy,  an'  wa'n't  a-goin' 
tu  keep  no  gret  spell." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Huldah,  putting  a  thin  slice 


118  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

between  her  lips  and  meditatively  munching  it. 
"  There 's  lots  an'  sacks  on  'em  that 's  all  squ'sh, 
an'  ef  we  save  many  of  'em  we  've  got  tu  hev  a 
parin'-bee  ef  you  an'  Uncle  Lisher  could  stan'  the 
rumpus." 

"  Stan'  it !  Law  sakes.  I  could  stan'  a  lee  tie 
o'  the  young  folkses  catousin,  an'  he  'd  enj'y  it 
jest  as  much  as  any  on  'em,  furzino.  But  apple 
cuts  is  tumble  wasteful  an'  mussin'  an'  gin'ally 
cost  more  'n  they  come  tu." 

"  But  we  'd  get  the  apples  worked  off  an'  the 
young  folks  'd  have  a  good  time.  I  wonder  if 
father  Lovel  woidd  care  ?  " 

"  Law  sakes  alive,"  said  Aunt  Jerusha,  "  if  he 
c'd  stan'  S'manthy  twenty  year,  I  guess  he  c'n 
stan'  one  eveniu's  catousin.  But  hear  me  talk, 
an'  she  an  ol'  neighbor  an'  your  mother-in-law  ef 
she  was  a-livin'.  Lisher !  "  she  called,  "  du  you 
s'pose  you  an'  Timerthy  could  stan'  it,  ef  we  had 
a  apple  cut  ?  "  and  she  shook  her  knife  at  Hul- 
dah  while  they  paused  in  their  work  to  hear  his 
answer. 

"  A  apple  cut  ?  A  parin'-bee  ?  Good  airth 
an'  seas !  You  jest  try  it  an'  see.  I  bate  ye,  me 
an'  him  '11  shake  our  hommels  wi'  the  spryest  on 
em." 

"  What  'd  I  tell  ye  ?  "  Aunt  Jerusha  whispered 
triumphantly. 

When  the  subject  was   broached  to  them  at 


THE  PARING-BEE.  119 

dinner,  Sam  and  his  father  made  no  objections, 
and  it  was  settled  that  the  entertainment  should 
be  given  as  soon  as  the  necessary  preparations 
could  be  made. 

A  whole  day  was  spent  in  bountiful  if  not 
elaborate  cooking  ;  the  frying  of  at  least  a  bushel 
of  doughnuts  and  the  making  and  baking  of 
pumpkin  pies,  whose  crowded  ranks  filled  half 
the  pantry  shelves.  Then  the  rooms  were  put 
in  cleanly  order,  which  Aunt  Jerusha  declared, 
while  giving  her  best  efforts  to  it,  "  A  useless 
work,  a-scrubbin'  an'  puttin'  tu  rights  jest  tu 
hev  'em  mussed  an'  cluttered  intu  jest  a  hoorah's 
nest." 

Meantime  invitations  were  issued,  not  on  per 
fumed  paper,  but  by  hearty  word  of  mouth,  and 
given  pretty  generally  yet  discreetly. 

"  Don't  ye  gin  no  invite  tu  none  o'  them  Forge 
fellers,"  said  Huldah  as  Sam  lingered  on  the 
threshold  in  indecision  between  the  various 
routes.  "  They  're  such  a  rantankerous  passel  o' 
critters,  allers  fer  raisin'  a  rumpus.  An'  don't 
ye  forgit  tu  gin  Tom  Hamlin  a  bid,  an'  his  parin'- 
machine,  both  on  'em,  for  one  hain't  no  good  with- 
aout  t'  other.  An'  come  raound  by  Joel  Bart- 
lett's  an'  git  ten  paound  o'  his  best  cheese,  but 
don't  let  him  know  what  ye  want  on  't.  He 
would  n't  knowingly  let  his  cheese  git  mixed  up 
wi'  no  sech  worl'  people's  fryvolity." 


120  DAN  VIS    FOLKS. 

"  Sho,  I  guess  his  screuples  hain't  wuth  more  'n 
seven  cents  a  paound,"  said  Sam  irreverently. 

"  An'  I  hope  you  '11  make  it  a  pint  tu  give 
Peltier  a  bid  tu  the  apple  cut,"  Uncle  Lisha 
called  from  the  shop  ;  "he  needs  chirkin'  up  wust 
of  any  on  us,  the  poor  love-cracked  creetur.  Ef 
Danvis  gals  is  pooty  's  they  was  when  aour 
womern  was  gals,  Samwill,  the'  '11  be  some  here 
pooty  enough  tu  take  his  mind  off  'm  that  lake 
shore  gill  flirt,  maremaid,  I  d'  know  but  she  is. 
Did  he  find  her  in  the  lake,  Samwill?  An'  ef 
ye  can  scare  up  a  fiddler,  git  him.  What 's  come 
o'  that  leetle  hump-backed  feller  'at,  when  he  sot 
in  the  corner  a-fiddlin',  you  could  n't  see  nothin' 
on,  behind  his  fiddle.  But  good  airth  an'  seas, 
he  'd  saw  that  fiddle  all  up  into  tunes.  He  'd  be 
ekernomical  for  a  kitchen  tunk,  gitten'  intu  a 
corner  so,  aout  'n  the  way." 

Sam  hurried  away  before  he  should  be  bur 
dened  with  further  instructions,  lamenting  as  he 
went  the  loss  of  so  fine  a  hunting  morning. 

On  the  evening  appointed  for  the  entertain 
ment  the  full  moon  was  seen,  but  as  a  pale  and 
dimly  defined  blotch  behind  the  gray  veil  of  cloud 
that  overspread  the  sky  and  blended  with  the 
vague  rim  of  the  horizon. 

There  was  a  dull,  sullen  chill  in  the  air,  which 
was  motionless  in  the  expectancy  wherewith 
nature  so  often  awaits  her  changes.  The  night 


THE  PABING-BEE.  121 

was  jarred  by  the  rumble  of  wagons  jolting  over 
the  frozen  roads  and  pierced  by  the  merry  voices 
of  coming  guests. 

Some  of  these  were  occupants  of  the  wagons, 
above  whose  rumbls  and  clatter  they  strove  to 
make  one  another  hear  between  abrupt  breaks  of 
the  thread  of  conversation  when  a  wheel  struck  a 
stone  or  dropped  into  a  rut.  Some  were  coming 
across  the  fields  on  foot  in  couples  and  squads, 
but  it  was  noticeable  that  the  couples  emerged 
from  the  half  gloom  before  their  voices  were 
heard,  while  the  gabble  and  laughter  of  the 
groups  ran  far  before  them  to  herald  their  com 
ing. 

Beams  of  light  shone  hospitably  forth  from 
every  window  of  the  kitchen  and  square  room, 
and  the  heavy  latch  clanked  and  the  door  slammed 
announcement  of  the  frequent  arrivals. 

The  women  folks  came  from  the  bedroom, 
where  they  had  bestowed  their  hoods  and  shawls 
and  cloaks  on  Huldah's  bed,  each  with  an  apron 
shielding  the  front  of  her  tidy  calico  or  homespun 
woolen  gown.  The  men  hung  their  coats  on  the 
pegs  of  the  kitchen  wall  and  became  comfortable 
in  their  accustomed  indoor  shirt-sleeves. 

Soon  pans  and  knives  were  brought  forth, 
bushel  baskets  of  apples  lugged  in,  chairs  drawn 
into  convenient  groups,  and  the  business  of  the 
evening  began. 


122  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

Tom  Hamlin  and  another  almost  as  famous  ail 
apple  parer  bestrode  their  machines,  placed  on 
the  seats  of  high-backed  chairs,  and  entered  upon 
such  a  strife  for  the  championship  that  the  clat 
tering  din  of  their  clumsily  geared  machines  was 
almost  incessant,  and  the  parings  spurting  from 
their  knives  in  curved  jets  were  scarcely  broken 
in  the  quick  shifting  of  the  apples  on  the  forks. 
Presently  a  dozen  pairs  of  hands  were  busy  quar 
tering  the  peeled  apples,  as  many  more  were 
coring  them,  while  others  strung  them  with  wire 
needles  on  long  strings  of  pack  thread,  for 
drying. 

Every  one  except  Tom  Hamlin  and  his  rival 
was  talking,  and  almost  every  voice  strove  to 
make  itself  heard  above  every  other  and  the  deaf 
ening  clatter  of  the  machines.  Some  couples  with 
heads  close  together  utilized  the  uproar  to  say 
things  meant  for  no  other  ears. 

In  the  centre  of  an  interested  group,  Uncle 
Lisha,  splitting  apples  with  his  shoe  knife,  roared 
like  a  lion  concerning  the  wonders  of  the  West, 
and  to  as  interested  a  feminine  audience,  Aunt 
Jerusha  quavered  shrilly  of  the  discomforts  of 
Western  life  while  she  industriously  strung  the 
quarters  of  apples  in  her  pan. 

"Fifty  an'  a  hunderd  acres  in  one  field  o' 
wheat  an'  the  hull  on  't  as  level  as  the  Forge 
Pawnd,"  Uncle  Lisha  shouted. 


THE  PAEING-BEE.  123 

"  Ten  mile  tu  the  nigliest  store,"  shrieked  his 
wife  to  her  group  of  listeners,  "  an'  when  you  got 
to  't,  the  tea  an'  snuff  they  kept  wa'n't  wuth  a- 
kerryin'  hum,  though  goodness  knows  they  ast 
enough  for  'em.  Land  sakes  !  how  be  I  goin'  to 
git  a  pinch  o'  snuff,  wi'  both  my  han's  in  these 
'ere  apples  ?  " 

"  Jest  look  o'  Mandy  Varney,"  cried  a  buxom 
damsel  to  those  around  her.  "  She  hain't  done 
nothin'  only  chank  every  identicle  quarter  she  's 
cored,  an'  listen  to  that  Jim  Putman,  sence  she 
soddaown.  Wonder  ef  she  thinks  it 's  a-sparkin' 
bee  steaddy  a  parin'-bee?  " 

"  What  s'pose  the  reason  is,  the'  hain't  none  o' 
Cap'n  Peck's  folks  come?"  inquired  another 
high-keyed  voice ;  to  which  a  middle-aged  matron 
answered,  with  a  backward  toss  of  the  head,  while 
she  kept  her  eyes  rigidly  fixed  upon  her  apple 
and  knife,  "  Proberbly  they  're  'bove  goin'  to  such 
common  duins,  naow  't  he  's  sot  in  the  Leegislatur. 
Ef  't  was  'fore  'lection  the'  'd  all  ha'  come  fast 
'nough." 

"  They  du  say  'at  on  the  stren'th  on  't  she  's 
ben  tu  Vgennes  an'  bought  a  hull  set  o'  flowin' 
blue  dishes.  Clapham  had  n't  nothin'  quite  good 
enough  for  a  member  o'  the  Leegislatur's  wife," 
cried  another. 

"  Highty  tighty,"  said  the  elder  matron,  "  an' 
there  be  them  'at  hain't  so  turrible  old  that 


124  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

remember  when  the  hull  fam'ly  eat  the'  puddin' 
an'  milk  aouten  braown  airthenware  bowls,  an* 
glad  'nough  to  get  'em."  Even  Dan  vis  was  not 
without  its  social  jealousies. 

"  Suthin'  ben  a  ketchin'  Joel  Bartlett's  sheep," 
announced  one  of  a  knot  of  married  men,  who, 
assembled  apart  from  their  wives,  were  not  labor 
ing  very  assiduously.  "  Some  thinks  it 's  dawgs 
an'  some  thinks  it 's  a  animil." 

" 'T ain't  no  ways  likely  it's  a  bear,"  another 
remarked;  "the  time  o'  the  year's  ag'in'  that. 
But  it  might  be  a  painter." 

"  Wai,  no,  I  don't  favor  the  idee,  'cause  the' 
was  ten  or  a  dozen  sheep 't  was  killed  aout  an'  aout ; 
jest  the'  tlirut  cut.  A  painter  would  n't  ha'  killed 
more  'n  one  or  tew,  an'  sati'fied  hisself  a-eatin'  the 
meat.  Hain't  that  so,  Samwill  ?  "  appealing  to 
their  host,  who  had  come  within  call  as  he  moved 
from  group  to  group  to  see  that  each  was  properly 
provided  for. 

"  I  cal'late  it 's  a  wolf,"  he  said,  "  from  what 
I  've  hearn  tell  o'  their  duins.  More  'n  all  that, 
I  've  consaited  all  the  fall  'at  the'  was  one  a-hangin' 
raound,  fer  I  've  seen  signs  'at  I  could  n't  lay  to  no 
other  critter.  But  ef  he  don't  make  himself  scace 
'fore  many  hours,  I  reckon  we  '11  have  a  chance 
to  find  aout  what  he  is,  fer  ef  it  don't  snow  be 
fore  mornin'  I  miss  my  guess." 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  aout  tu  take  a  look  o'  the  weather 


THE  PARING-BEE.  125 

jest  fer  greens,"  said  one  of  the  party,  rising  with 
a  sigh  of  relief  and  dropping  his  pan  in  his  chair. 
After  an  absence  which  must  have  enabled  him 
to  make  a  thorough  study  of  the  weather,  he  re- 
entered  the  kitchen  so  powdered  with  snow  that 
he  did  not  need  to  proclaim  that  "  it  was  snowin' 
like  fun." 

Many  of  the  company  needed  further  ocular 
proof  of  his  report,  and  hastened  forth  to  obtain 
it,  while  others  were  content  to  cool  their  noses 
against  the  window  panes  and  stare  out  upon  the 
landscape  grown  more  obscure  behind  the  veil  of 
falling  snow,  all  dull  and  lifeless,  but  for  the 
candles'  weird  reflections  —  unreal  lights  by 
which,  perhaps,  witches  were  holding  carnival. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  hope  of  beholding  them  that 
so  long  kept  some  fair  cheeks  in  close  proximity 
to  bearded  ones. 

"  If  it  holds  up  by  mornin'  I  '11  take  a  ran- 
tomscoot  up  back  o'  Joel's  and  see  what  tracks  I 
c'n  find,"  Sam  said,  and  hurried  away  as  Tom 
Hamlin,  tossing  away  the  last  apple  and  kicking 
over  the  empty  basket,  shouted,  "  Fetch  on  your 
apples  ef  you  want  'em  skinned." 

So  with  unflagging  zeal  and  unabated  clamor  of 
voices,  and  clatter  of  implements  and  machines, 
the  work  went  on  till  half  a  dozen  bushels  of 
apples  were  on  the  strings  and  ready  to  festoon 
the  kitchen  walls  and  poles  that  hung  from  hooks 


126  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

in  the  ceiling,  and  the  welcome  announcement  was 
made  that  the  labor  of  the  evening  was  over. 

"  Naow,  then,"  said  Sam,  making  his  way  with 
careful  steps  across  the  floor  slippery  with  scat 
tered  skins  and  cores,  "  we  '11  clear  up  the  thick 
est  o'  this  mess  and  then  we  '11  see  ef  aour 
womern  folks  has  saved  any  cold  victuals  fer  us. 
I  believe  I  saw  some  cold  'taters  in  the  buttry 
an'  I  do'  know  but  the'  's  some  o'  Drive's  johnny- 
cake  left." 

But  before  the  floor  was  cleaned,  a  dozen  girls 
must  try  for  their  lover's  initials  with  apple 
parings  whirled  thrice  above  their  heads  and 
cast  over  the  right  shoulder  to  the  floor  behind 
them. 

"  Wai !  fer  all  the  world,"  cried  Amanda  Var- 
ney,  blushing  as  red  as  the  apple  peeling  she  had 
just  cast  behind  her,  and  was  now  regarding  with 
surprised  delight,  "  ef  it  hain't  a  perfect  P." 

"  It  might  be  most  anything,"  said  Mary  Ann 
Jones,  who  in  the  early  evening  had  called  atten 
tion  to  Amanda's  flirtation. 

"  '  T  would  be  good  enough  ef  you  'd  ha'  made 
it,"  said  Amanda ;  "  I  '11  leave  it  tu  Uncle  Lisher 
ef  't  ain't  a  good  P,"  as  the  old  man  drew  near 
the  circle  widening  to  admit  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  after  adjusting  his  spectacles 
and  critically  examining  the  initial.  "  It 's  julluk 
handwritin'.  But  it  don't  stan'  fer  Putman  nei 


THE  PARING-BEE.  127 

fer  Peggs.  It  's  tew  long  and  lank.  Guess  it 
stands  fer  Peltier.  Come  here,  Peltier.'* 

The  young  man,  who  was  moping  in  a  corner, 
made  his  way  toward  them.  "It  'pears  tu  be 
p' in  ted  by  fortin  'at  you  've  got  tu  dance  'long 
wi'  Mandy.  Naow,  you  be  ready  tu  take  your 
place  wi'  her  soon 's  we  get  suthin'  tu  eat." 
Then  whispering  into  his  ear  like  a  blast  of 
northeast  wind,  "  Naow  du  try  tu  shake  some  o' 
the  sorrow  aout  o'  your  heart  when  th'  dancin' 
begins." 

"  Gosh,  Uncle  Lisher,"  said  Pelatiah,  aghast 
at  the  plan,  and  casting  a  hopeless  glance  upon 
his  big  boots.  "  I  can't  dance  no  more  'n  a 
thirty-foot  ladder." 

"  Wai,  'f  you  hain't  got  the  tools,  I  do'  know 
who  hes,  an'  you  've  got  tu  use  'em  if  I  hafter 
yard  ye  top  o'  the  hot  stove.  Come,  gals,  le'  's 
git  things  sot  tu  rights  so  't  we  c'n  eat  an'  git  tu 
the  rale  business  o'  the  evenin'." 

Then  the  guests,  ranged  along  the  walls  of  the 
kitchen  and  spare  room,  were  amply  served  with 
Huldah's  doughnuts,  pies,  and  cheese,  and  Sam's 
cider  received  its  usual  compliments. 

Then  the  young  people  engaged  in  romping 
games,  the  Needle's  Eye,  wherein  every  one  who 
could  sing  and  every  one  who  could  not,  sang, 
or  tried  to  sing,  at  the  top  of  their  voices  :  — 

"  The  needle's  eye,  that  doth  soffy  the  thread  that  runs  so  treue, 
It  has  caught  many  a  smiling  lass  and  naow  it  has  caught  yeou  1* 


128  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

or  with  a  volume  and  zest  that  would  have  pleased 
Gran'ther  Hill  more  than  the  melody,  "  We  're 
marching  onward  tow-ard  Quebec."  In  every 
game  the  forfeits  were  invariably  kisses,  given 
and  paid  in  the  simplest  and  most  direct  manner, 
or  when  so  decreed,  in  the  contortions  of  a  "  dou 
ble  and  twisted  Loddy  massy."  The  movements 
of  another  popular  game  were  timed  to  the  words 
of  "  Come,  Philander,  le'  's  be  a-marchin'."  The 
elders  looked  on  in  amused  toleration,  while  a  few 
joined  the  young  folks'  games  only  to  be  re 
minded,  by  grudgingly  paid  forfeits,  that  the 
freshness  of  youth  had  departed  from  their 
wrinkled  cheeks. 

"Come,"  at  last  cried  Uncle  Lisha,  who  by 
tacit  consent  assumed  the  office  of  master  of 
ceremonies,  "  you  young  folks  orter  be  abaout 
cl'yed  wi'  bussin'  an'  we  ol'  folks  has  eat  saour 
grapes  long  'nough,  so  le'  's  all  turn  tu  an'  hev  a 
leetle  sensible  enj'yment  a-dancin'.  Where 's 
thet  aire  leetle  fiddler." 

"  He  hain't  come  anigh,"  Sam  answered.  "  He 
promised  he  'd  come  sartin  sure,  but  I  'm  most 
afeerd  he  's  run  ag'in'  a  snag  tu  Hanmer's  'at  he 
won't  git  clear  on,  'fore  niornin'.  It 's  tew  tarnal 
bad." 

"  Well,  that 's  a  pretty  haow  de  du,"  said  the 
old  man,  "  but  we  won't  be  cheated  aout  'n  aour 
dancin'  by  one  drunken  fiddler.  Tom  Hanilin,  'd 


THE  PARING-BEE.  129 

ye  fetch  yer  jewsharp  in  your  pocket  ?  er  can  you 
dig  one  up,  Samwill  ? "  Tom  "  hed  n't  never 
thought  on  "t,"  nor  could  Sam  find  the  only  in 
strument  upon  which  he  ever  played. 

"  Wai,  then,  I  've  got  tu  sing,  which  I  '11  make 
you  hear  me,  ef  I  don't  charm  none.  Chuse  your 
pardners  naow  or  never  an'  form  ont'  the  floor. 
Come,  Peltier,  git  Mandy  and  stan'  up  tu  the 
dough  dish." 

Pelatiah  hung  back  bashfully  till  Amanda, 
seeing  her  rival,  Mary  Ann,  led  out  by  Putnam, 
blushing  with  vexation,  met  him  more  than  half 
way,  and  he  found  his  unwilling  feet  taking  him 
to  his  place  in  the  waiting  ranks. 

"  All  ready.  Naow  I  'm  goin'  tu  sing,"  shouted 
Uncle  Lisha,  and  began  to  roar  in  stentorian 
tones :  — 

"  Lum  tiddle,  lum  tiddle,  t'l  law  day, 
Lum  tiddle  — 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas !  Why  don't  ye  start 
yer  hommels  ?  D'  ye  s'pose  I  'm  goin'  tu  set  an' 
holler  all  night  for  you  tu  stan'  an'  gawp  julluk 
tew  rows  o'  stancheled  calves  ?  " 

Thus  adjured  the  first  couple  paddled  and 
sailed  down  the  middle,  when  he  again  took  up 
his  wordless  song,  and  twenty-four  pairs  of  feet, 
impatient  for  their  turn,  began  to  stamp  and 
shuffle  to  its  rhythm  :  — 


130 


DANVIS  FOLKS. 


Lum     ticl  -  die,  him      tid  -  die,        t'l      law      day, 


N 


lum        tid -die,     lum     tid -die,         t'l        law     day, 


PS 


day    hum,  do  day   hum,  do    day  hum,    t'l  law  day. 


Antoine,  sitting  by  Uncle  Lisha,  and  attempt 
ing  to  catch  the  tune  in  snatches  of  undertone, 
played  an  imaginary  fiddle  and  pranced  time 
with  both  feet  after  the  Canadian  fashion,  evi 
dently  considering  himself  the  chief  performer. 

The  dancers  quickly  caught  the  inspiration  of 
well-meant,  if  unmelodious,  strains,  and  whirled 
and  capered  in  perfect  abandonment  to  their 
influence.  Even  Pelatiah's  bashfulness  melted 
away  in  the  excitement,  and  he  made  wild  rushes 
at  wrong  moments  and  in  wrong  directions,  which 
involved  him  and  his  partner  in  bewildering  en 
tanglement  with  other  couples. 

*'Turn  yer  pardener  half  way  raound, 
Lum  tiddle,  lum  tiddle,  t'l  law  day, 
Half  way  raound,  half  way  raound,  do  day  hum,  t'l  law  day." 

Uncle  Lisha  sang  at  him  vociferously,  and 
Antoine  chimed  in  with,  "Turn  yo'  pahdny 


THE  PAEING-BEE.  131 

wrong  side  aout,"  to  Pelatiah's  complete  bewil 
derment.  Then  young  Putnam,  striving  to  outdo 
his  own  agile  steps,  as  he  pranced  down  the  mid 
dle  with  Mary  Ann  Jones,  slipped  on  a  fragment 
of  apple  peel  and  fell  headlong,  plowing  his  way 
along  a  rank  of  dancers  and  turning  a  furrow  of 
them  on  top  of  himself.  Uncle  Lisha  still  sang 
on,  his  voice  rising  above  the  din  of  shrieks  and 
laughter,  till  it  dawned  upon  him  that  no  one  was 
dancing  and  his  music  was  being  poured  forth  to 
no  purpose. 

In  the  lull  that  presently  succeeded  the  confu 
sion  the  company  became  aware  of  the  notes  of  a 
fiddle,  whence  coming  no  one  could  conjecture, 
faintly  yet  distinctly  playing  the  familiar  air  of 
"Money  Musk."  While  all  listened,  some  puz 
zled  and  some  breathless,  and  some  superstitiously 
alarmed,  Solon  Briggs  oracularly  voiced  the  pre 
vailing  feeling,  in  a  solemn,  awe-stricken  tone :  — 

"That  fiddle  hain't  performed  by  no  livin' 
han's.  Watson  Farmer  has  pairished,  mis'rable, 
in  the  element  of  the  snow,  and  his  speerit  has 
come  to  fulfill  his  'pintment  made  to  Samule. 
It 's  Watson  Farmer's  indivisible  apperagotion." 

"  Beeswax,"  cried  John  Dart,  listening  at  the 
open  door.  "  Go  to  thunder  wi'  yer  speerits ! 
It 's  someb'dy  in  the  woodshed.  Gimme  a  light 
an'  I '11  see  who  'tis." 

Taking  a  candle  and  protecting  it  with  his  hoi- 


132  DAN  VIS    FOLKS. 

lowed  hand,  he  made  his  way  to  the  woodshed, 
followed  by  the  bolder  of  the  company,  close  at 
his  heels,  the  more  timid  crowding  one  another  in 
the  rear,  where  the  light  of  the  open  door  mistily 
illumined  the  falling  snow.  Under  cover  of  the 
shed,  and  held  high  above  Dart's  head,  the  candle 
struggled  with  the  gloom,  till  it  disclosed  a  dis 
mally  comic  little  figure  crouched  in  a  limp  heap, 
with  its  back  against  a  barrel,  its  disproportion 
ately  long  legs  looped  over  the  bar  of  a  sawhorse 
on  which  it  had  attempted  to  seat  itself.  The 
snow-laden  hat  had  fallen  over  the  face,  and  the 
short  body  was  hidden  by  the  fiddle  which  the 
owner  was  playing  with  a  skill  that  had  survived 
inebriation,  while  in  a  thin  and  drunken  voice  he 
prompted  the  movements  of  a  country  dance. 

"  Firsh  cou'le.  Daow'  er  mi'le.  Balansh.  Daow 
a  rou'  shide." 

"  Wai,  I  swan,"  Dart  ejaculated,  "  'f  't  ain't 
speerits,  arter  all.  Hamner's,  inside  o'  Wat  Far 
mer.  Hamner  'd  ortu  be  kicked  tu  death  by 
cripples  for  a-lettin'  on  him  git  so.  Wat,"  tak 
ing  the  hat  from  the  fiddler's  face,  shaking  the 
snow  from  it,  and  adjusting  it  in  its  proper  place, 
"  don't  be  a-wastin'  your  music  on  the  wood  pile. 
You  can't  git  no  dancin'  aout  on  't.  Come  intf 
the  haouse." 

But  the  hunchback's  face,  vacant  of  every 
thing  save  its  habitual  expression  of  pain,  only 


.THE  PAEING-BEE.  133 

stared  blindly  into  space  and  the  merry  tune 
went  on. 

"  You  might  as  well  talk  tu  a  post.  Take  a 
holt  o'  the  light,  some  on  ye  ;  "  and  giving  the  can 
dle  into  other  hands,  he  got  behind  the  little  man, 
and,  placing  his  arms  under  the  limp  legs,  lifted 
him  as  easily  as  one  might  a  child,  and  in  such  a 
position  the  playing  of  the  violin  was  not  inter 
rupted,  and  so,  preceded  by  the  candle-bearer, 
carried  him  into  the  house.  As  they  entered, 
Palmer's  drunken  fancy  moved  him  to  strike 
up,  "  The  Campbells  are  Coming." 

"The  camels  is  comin',"  cried  Beau  Putnam. 
"  Don't  ye  see  the  hump  ?  " 

"  Shut  yer  head,  you  blasted  monkey,"  Dart 
growled  so  savagely  that  the  grin  faded  out  of 
Putnam's  face,  and  the  laugh  that  his  coarse  jest 
created  died  out  in  a  suppressed  titter. 

"  Here  's  your  music,  Lovel,"  Dart  announced, 
as  he  deposited  his  light  burden  on  a  chair,  "  the 
best  fiddler  in  Charlotte  county.  He's  a  leetle 
mite  tired  jest  naow,  but  when  he  gits  rested 
he  '11  set  all  yer  feet  flyin'  in  spite  of  ye.  Mis' 
Lovel,  won't  ye  give  him  a  cup  o'  tea,  hot  an* 
strong?" 

When  the  little  man  had  been  somewhat  re 
stored  to  his  proper  self,  he  tuned  his  violin  and 
then  drew  from  it  such  blithe  and  melodious 
strains  that  all  forgot  his  deformity.  Even  he, 


134  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

with  loving  eyes  fixed  upon  his  instrument,  his 
worn  face  alight  with  a  tender  emotion  that  soft 
ened  the  lines  which  pain  and  dissipation  had 
drawn  upon  it,  seemed  for  the  time  also  to  have 
forgotten  it. 

Uncle  Lisha,  relieved  of  his  musical  labors, 
abandoned  himself  to  the  pleasures  of  the  dance 
with  a  grace  and  agility  that  filled  Aunt  Jeru- 
sha's  heart  with  pride,  albeit  they  were  such  as  a 
sportive  bear  exhibits.  Aiitoine  was  given  the 
floor  for  a  while,  as,  to  a  tune  of  his  own  choos 
ing,  he  danced  a  Canadian  jig.  Every  one  was 
a  wide-awake  and  active  participant  in  the  gayety 
except  the  baby  and  the  old  hound,  the  one  sleep 
ing,  undisturbed  by  the  noise  and  commotion, 
whereof  the  other  was  a  resigned  but  unhappy 
spectator  under  the  circumscribed  shelter  of  the 
stove. 

When  the  dance  ended,  and  the  guests,  even 
now  acknowledging  no  fatigue,  began  to  depart, 
the  morning  star  was  shining  through  the  break 
ing  clouds  and  the  day  was  faintly  dawning  upon 
a  world  whose  new  whiteness  looked  strange  to 
eyes  that  last  beheld  it,  dun  and  gray  with  the 
dreariness  of  late  autumn. 

"  Naow  fetch  on  that  leetle  fiddler,"  John  Dart 
commanded  when  he  had  tucked  his  Sarah  Ann 
snugly  in  the  buffalo-skins.  "  I  'm  a-goin'  tu  git 
him  safte  past  Hamner's  ef  I  hafter  lock  him  up 


THE  PABING-BEE.  135 

in  his  fiddle  box.  "We  wanter  keep  him  for  an 
other  apple  cut.  Here,  Wat,  cuddle  in  there 
'twixt  me  an'  Sary  Ann,  we  're  both  on  us  small. 
Here  ye  be.  Good-night,  Lovel,  ef  't  ain't  tew 
airly.  I  '11  be  on  hand  ef  the'  's  a  wolf  hunt. 
G'  lang,  Bob." 

"  It 's  complete  trackin  snow,"  said  Sam  to  a 
group  of  hunters  who  lingered  last  at  his  thresh 
old,  and  he  stooped  to  imprint  the  snowy  bank 
ing  with  his  finger.  "  I  '11  see  what  it 's  got  tu 
tell  us  an'  let  you  know.  Good-mornin'." 

The  wagons  moving  over  the  muffled  roads, 
and  the  quiet  of  the  sleepy  junketers,  marked 
their  departure  with  silence  as  noticeable  as  the 
noise  of  their  coming. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN   THE   LINTER. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  prolonged  revels  of  the 
previous  night,  several  neighbors  dropped  in  at 
the  shop  in  the  Linter  the  evening  of  the  follow 
ing  day  to  learn  of  any  news  of  the  ravager  of 
Joel  Bartlett's  flock.  Sam  had  not  yet  returned 
from  his  quest,  and,  while  they  awaited  his  com 
ing  with  different  degrees  of  patience,  they  fell 
very  naturally  into  the  accustomed  ways  of  the 
old  shop. 

Solon  Briggs  took  his  seat  behind  the  stove, 
Joseph  Hill  seated  himself  with  laborious  care  on 
the  chair  of  most  doubtfid  stability,  Antoine  sat 
on  the  floor  with  legs  crossed  after  the  fashion  of 
Turks  and  tailors,  and  Pelatiah  perched  uncom 
fortably,  as  became  his  state  of  mind,  on  the 
corner  of  the  shoe  bench.  With  the  autocrat  of 
the  little  realm  on  his  leathern  throne,  the  social 
pipes  alight,  Pelatiah  ruminating  his  innocuous 
cud,  they  could  hardly  realize  that  the  old  fa 
miliar  intercourse  had  suffered  a  three  years' 
hiatus. 

Uncle   Lisha  yawned   over   his   work   till  he 


IN  THE  LINTEE.  137 

pounded  his  thumb  with  a  misdirected  stroke, 
and  then,  while  he  sucked  the  injured  digit, 
impatiently  cast  aside  hammer,  awl,  and  lasted 
shoe. 

"  Consarn  it  all,"  he  grumbled,  "  carummuxin 
don't  tarve  so  well  wi'  seventy  odd  as  it  does  wi' 
twenty  odd  year.  Jest  one  night  on  't  hes  made 
me  sleepier  'n  a  Quaker  meetin',  but  when  I  was 
Peltier's  age  I  c'd  go  it  eight  nights  in  a  week 
an'  work  busy  's  a  bee  all  day.  Dumbd  if  I  try 
tu  work.  Seem 's  ef  't  was  'baout  time  for  Sam 
tu  come  hum." 

"I  should  raly  like  to  know  what  specie  of 
savagarous  beast  has  been  a-deevastatin'  Joel's 
sheep." 

"  Proberbly,"  said  Joseph,  venturing  to  tilt  his 
chair  on  its  front  legs  to  enable  him  to  spit  at 
the  stove  hearth,  "  it 's  a  wolf  er  suthin'."  The 
chair  gave  a  creak  ominous  of  collapse,  and  he 
carefully  readjusted  it  to  its  complete  if  preca 
rious  support  of  his  weight.  "  Seem 's  'ough 
this  'ere  chair  was  a  leetle  mite  more  weewaw  'an 
it  uster  be,"  and  he  leaned  cautiously  to  one  side 
and  the  other  to  inspect  the  spreading  legs,  "  but 
I  don't  know  as  it  is,"  slowly  bending  forward 
for  a  general  survey  of  them,  between  his  spread 
knees ;  "  I  guess  it  '11  stan'  a  spell." 

"I  wish  't  you'd  bust  the  tarnal  ol'  thing, 
Jozeff,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  with  nervous  impa* 


138  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

tience.  "  It  's  squeaked  an'  it 's  squoke  till  I  am 
sick  an*  tired  of  it." 

"  It  best  was,  you  '11  sect  where  Ah  '11  was, 
Zhoseff,  den  it  an't  be  danger  for  fall  off  or 
broke  up  you  sit,  an't  it  ?  " 

"  Judgin'  f 'm  what  I  hearn,"  said  Uncle  Lisha, 
after  watching  the  chair  with  a  hope  of  the  ful 
fillment  of  his  wish,  "  I  s'pect  it 's  a  wolf.  It 's 
ben  a  good  spell  sen'  there 's  ben  one  on  'em 
raound  these  parts.  It 's  a  massy  the  varmints 
ain't  so  thick  as  they  used  tu  be.  When  I  was  a 
boy  you  c'd  hear  'em  a-yowlin'  up  on  the  maoun- 
tain,  most  any  night,  'nough  tu  make  yer  back 
freeze.  Naow  an'  ag'in,  they  used  tu  kill  folks, 
I  s'pose.  I  never  knowed  o'  their  killin'  any 
body  fer  sartain,  but  some  on  'em  'lowed  they 
killed  Cephas  Worth  an'  eat  him  clean  up,  an' 
then  ag'in,  some  cal'lated  they  did  n't." 

"  Haow  was  't  ? "  Pelatiah  asked,  agape,  the 
swab,  wherewith  he  was  greasing  his  boot,  ar 
rested  halfway  between  it  and  the  pot  of  neat's 
foot  oil. 

"If  it  wa'n't  'at  I  got  feelin's  fer  ye,"  said 
Uncle  Lisha,  regarding  his  employment  with 
some  severity  of  expression,  "  I  would  n't  allow 
you  tu  waste  that  precious  intement  on  none  o' 
Clapham's  store  boots.  That  aire  was  made  for 
honest  boots,  but  it  don't  signify ;  ile  away.  Why 
the  way  on  't  was,  ye  see  Cephas  was  sugarin' 


IN  THE  LINTEE.  139 

way  up  on  the  aidge  o'  the  maountain  a  mild  f 'm 
hum.  He  hed  him  a  shanty  an'  kerned  up  pro 
visions  tu  last  him  tew,  three  days  an'  wouldn't 
go  hum  on'y  abaout  oncte  in  so  often,  jest  puttin' 
in  his  best  licks  makin'  sugar,  when  there  was  a 
big  run  o'  sap.  Wai,  it  run  along  one  spell, 
nigh  onter  a  week,  an'  he  did  n't  come  hum,  an* 
his  womern  begun  tu  tew  abaout  him,  'cause  it 
wa'n't  no  gre't  sugar  weather  an'  she  knowed  his 
victuals  must  be  all  used  up,  'cause  he  was  hearty 
tu  eat,  an'  bimeby  she  raousted  aout  the  neigh 
bors  tu  go  an'  look  him  up.  Another  thing  'at 
made  'em  oneasy  abaout  him  was  'at  the  wolves 
was  turrible  sassy  that  spring,  an'  they'd  hearn 
'em  a-yowlin'  up  in  the  neighborhood  o'  Cephas's 
camp  oncommon,  so  up  they  went,  Beedy  along 
wi'  the  rest  on  'em.  Obedience  her  name  was, 
but  they  all  called  her  Beedy.  When  they  come 
to  't,  the  shanty  was  hove  hither  an'  yon,  an'  tore 
tu  flinders,  an'  not  a  sign  o'  Cephas,  on'y  a  piece 
o'  kwut,  an'  a  dozen  bones  gnawed  clean.  Some 
was  cock  sure  they  was  his  'n,  an'  some  hed  the* 
daoubts  on  't,  an'  there  was  some  sprinkle  o' 
blood  an'  wolf  tracks  all  raound  thicker  'n  spat 
ter,  an'  ev'rything  clawed  and  chawed,  'ceptin' 
the  tub  o'  sugar.  Beedy  hed  it  kerried  hum  an1 
sol'  it  off  spry.  I  s'pose  the'  was  a  kin'  of  a 
skeery  flavor  tu  it  made  folks  hanker  arter  it. 
"  Wai,  Beedy  took  on  dreffly  an'  hed  a  tantry 


140  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

bogus  fit  on  'caount  o'  Cephas  bein'  killed  an'  eat 
up  by  wolves  so  't  there  wa'n't  'nough  on  him  left 
fer  a  fun'al,  scacely.  But  she  made  'em  pick  up 
the  bones  an'  they  took  'em  hum  an'  there  was 
quite  a  respectable  fun'al  considerin'  the  remains, 
wi'  preachin'  an'  prayin'  an'  cryin'.  An'  Beedy, 
she  hed  a  gravestun  sot  up,  an',  twixt  hoein'  an' 
hayin',  she  pulled  up  stakes  an'  went  off  some 
where,  said  she  could  n't  stan*  it  tu  stay  where 
she  'd  suffered  sech  a  loss.  But  there  was  lots  o' 
folks  'at  did  n't  believe  the'  was  no  'casion  fer  a 
fun'al.  Cephas  was  turribly  in  debt  an'  his  cred 
itors  a  threatenin'  tu  jail  him,  —  the'  useter  jail 
folks  fer  debt  in  them  times,  —  an'  he  was  awful 
skeered  o'  bein'  shet  up,  an'  so  they  cal'lated  he  'd 
jest  made  a  show  o'  bein'  clawed  an'  chawed  an' 
eat  up,  an'  had  cleared  aout,  an'  Beedy  'd  gone 
tu  fin'  him.  An'  the'  was  others  'at  stuck  to  't 
he  'd  raly  been  killed.  I  do'  know  the  rights  on 
't,  mebby  he  was,  an'  mebby  he  wa'n't,  but  tew, 
three  year  arterward  the'  was  a  peddler,  name  o' 
Treuman  Weeks,  'at  useter  travel  over  three, 
four  States,  come  raound  here  an'  he  toF  tu  the 
tarvern  'baout  a  feller  't  he  staid  with,  way  aout 
in  York  State,  'at  faound  aout  he  'd  ben  in  these 
parts  an'  inquired  turrible  particler  'baout  every 
body  in  Danvis.  But  the  nub  on  't  was  the 
feller  said  he  'd  lived  in  Vermont  forty  year,  a- 
warrin  with  God  and  wild  beasts  till  they  beat 


17V  THE  LINTEE.  141 

him  an'  he  'd  gi'n  up  an'  put  aout  there,  tu  'scape 
'em.  The  feller's  name  as  he  gin  it  the'  did  n't 
nob'dy  remember,  but  the  peddler  said  he  'd  allers 
remembered  the  name  the  feller  called  his  wife, 
't  was  sech  a  odd  saounding  one,  Beedy.  Puttin* 
this  an'  that  together,  folks  s'mised  't  was  Cephas 
Worth,  but  I  d'  know.  Why  on  airth,"  turning 
and  peering  out  of  the  broad,  low  winder,  "  don't 
that  Samwill  come  along  hum  ?  " 

"  Dat  mek  me  rembler,"  cried  Antoine,  hasten 
ing  to  improve  the  first  opportunity  offered  him 
to  speak,  "  'baout  one  mans  in  Canada  — 

"  Consarn  that  everlastin'  man  in  Canady," 
Uncle  Lisha  growled. 

"  But  Ah  '11  wan  tol  you  'baout  it  an'  'baout  de 
loup  garou  dat  was  be  mans  wen  hee  '11  min'  to, 
an'  wolfs  wen  hee  '11  min'  to." 

"  Antwine,  shet  yer  head.  Samwill  's  comin' 
an'  he  '11  hev  suthin'  wuth  a-tellin'." 

The  noise  of  stamping  feet  was  heard  on  the 
doorstep,  and  Samuel  entered.  All  eyes  were 
turned  inquiringly  upon  him,  for  he  wore  the  tri 
umphant  air  of  one  who  bears  important  tidings. 

"Wai?"  Uncle  Lisha  laconically  voiced  the 
impatience  of  the  audience. 

"  Arter  a  good  deal  o'  sear  chin',  I  faound  the 
track  an'  follered  it  tu  a  spreuce  cobble  a  mild 
east  o'  Joel's,  an'  I  cal'late  he  '11  lay  up  there  till 
he  gits  hungry  ag'in.  I  've  tol'  ev'ybody  'long 


142  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

my  way  hum,  an'  naow  you  fellers  want  to  start 
right  straight  aout  an'  pass  raound  word  to  ev'y- 
body  to  rally  in  the  mornin'  an'  meet  at  Joel 
Bartlett's.  S'posin'  Solon  an'  Jozeff  notify  the 
folks  up  their  way  an  Antwine  them  up  his  'n,  an' 
Peltier  daown  west,  an'  as  soon  's  I  get  a  bite  o' 
suthin'  tu  eat,  I  '11  go  over  to  the  store  where 
there  '11  be  a  lot  a-loafin'  raound  'at  I  can  send 
word  to  heaps  o'  folks.  It 's  airly  in  the  evenin' 
an'  the'  's  time  tu  raoust  aout  a  party  'at  '11  make 
it  lively  for  the  ol'  wolf.  Turn  'em  aout,  Uncle 
Lisher." 

The  visitors  arose  to  depart,  Antoine  sighing  as 
he  went. 

"Ah  ?11  hope  it  ain't  one  loup  garou.  Ah  '11 
goin'  tol'  you  ?baout  dat,  firs'  chance  Ah '11  gat 
of  it." 

"  Make  it  a  p'int  tu  stop  int'  Varney's  an'  tell 
him  'baout  the  wolf  hunt,  Peltier,"  Lisha  whis 
pered,  as  he  followed  his  visitors  to  the  door.  He 
watched  them  depart  their  several  ways  in  the 
moonlight,  and  then  looked  up  to  the  star-bejew- 
eled  sky. 

"  It 's  clear  as  a  Christian's  conscience  an'  not 
a  breath  a-stirrin'.  I  s'pose  I  might  go  aout  an' 
holler  the  news  in  the  doo'yard  so  't  some  on  'em 
c'ld  hear  it.  But  I  might  skeer  the  wolf  an'  so 
I  guess  I  '11  go  tu  bed.  It  '11  be  a  good  day  fei 
the  hunt,  Sam." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   HUNTING   OF   THE   WOLF. 

THE  morning  sunlight  had  not  touched  the 
tree-tops  of  the  crest  of  the  western  Danvis  hills, 
when  half  of  the  arms-bearing  population  of  the 
township  were  arriving  at,  or  tending  toward,  the 
appointed  gathering-place,  some  in  sleighs,  some 
on  foot,  each  bearing  some  sort  of  firearm.  The 
morning  was  not  far  spent,  when  a  formidable 
force  had  gathered  about  the  premises  of  Joel 
Bartlett,  a  strangely  warlike  array  to  be  mustered 
in  those  peaceful  precincts,  yet  Joel  beheld  it  with 
a  kindly  and  approving  eye  as  he  stood  in  the 
doorway,  with  Jemima  peering  timidly  out  be 
hind  him. 

"  It 's  a  heavy  weight  on  my  mind  to  see  so 
many  men  bearin'  carnal  weepons,"  she  said  with 
a  very  audible  sigh ;  "it  seems  too  much  like  the 
marshalin'  of  the  hosts  for  battle." 

"  But  thee  sees,  Jemimy,  it  hain't  for  no  pup- 
pus  of  sheddin'  humern  blood  ner  even  for  larnin' 
an?  practysein'  the  weeked  art  o'  war,  but  jest  tu 
quell  the  ravenous  beasts  of  the  wilderness,  which 


144  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

can't  be  wrought  upon  by  the  Word  nor  by  re- 
turnin'  good  for  evil." 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  thee  's  right,  Joel ;  but  I  can't 
help  my  mind  a-dwellin'  on  what  guns  was  mostly 
made  for,  in  times  formerly.  Ah,  me.  Butt 
Joel,  won't  thee  tell  these  good  folks  to  come  in 
an'  get  some  nut  cakes  and  cheese  if  any  on  'em 
has  occasion.  Some  must  have  eat  breakfast  un 
common  airly  this  momin'." 

Joel  loosened  the  pucker  of  his  lips,  and  loudly 
proclaimed  the  "  invite,"  which  was  accepted  with 
great  alacrity  by  many  who  stood  in  no  need  of 
refreshment,  and  with  more  diffidence  by  some 
who  already  were  reminded  they  had  breakfasted 
at  an  unwonted  hour. 

"  Wai,  I  guess  abaout  ev'ybody  's  got  here  'at 's 
comin',"  Sam  Lovel  said,  after  a  careful  survey  of 
the  roads  and  cross-lot  bypaths,  "  an'  we  'd  better 
choose  a  captain  an'  be  a-moggin'.  I  move  we 
hev  Captain  Peck  for  aour  captain.  Half  his 
comp'ny  's  here  an'  '11  f oiler  his  orders  nat' rally." 

"  If  they  don't  du  better  'n  they  du  tu  trainin', 
it  '11  take  a  corp'ral  tu  ev'ry  private  tu  keep  'em 
in  line,"  said  John  Dart,  struggling  with  a  dry 
mouthful  of  doughnuts  and  cheese.  "  Then,  ag'in, 
he  hain't  no  hunter.  We  want  you,  Lovel." 

"  No,  it  '11  look  better  tu  hev  Captain  Peck," 
Sam  insisted  ;  "  you  secont  him,  Dart." 

"  Wai,  I  don't  care.  I  secont  Cap'n  Peck,  wf 
Sam  Lovel  for  lef tenant." 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  145 

"You  hear  the  nommernation,"  Solon  Briggs 
said,  taking  upon  himself  the  office  of  moderator. 
"  As'el  Peck  for  capting  of  this  hunt,  wi'  Samwill 
Lovel  for  leftenant,  sort  of  aidycong  to  give  ad 
vices  and  et  cetery.  You  that's  in  favor,  say 
'  aye,'  contrary  minded,  say  4  no.'  The  ayes  have 
it,  an'  you  chose  the  above-mentioned  to  serve  you, 
as  here  to  before  stated." 

Captain  Peck,  a  brisk  little  man,  somewhat 
swelled  up  with  the  importance  of  his  dual  offices, 
held  a  brief  consultation  with  Sam,  and  then  in 
his  biggest  military  voice,  usually  reserved  for 
trainings,  gave  the  order,  "  Fall  in,  men,"  and, 
presently,  "  Forrid,  march,"  and  the  motley  com 
pany,  numbering  a  hundred  or  more,  went  forward 
in  disorderly  ranks  toward  the  objective  point. 

"  You  must  stop  your  gab,  men,"  Sam  continu 
ally  insisted,  as  he  passed  along  the  talkative  line, 
"erless  you'll  skeer  that  aire  wolf  clean  tu  N' 
Hampshire.  You  hain't  got  nothin'  to  say  but 
what  '11  keep  till  we  git  a  line  araound  the  cobble, 
an'  then  you  c'n  shoot  off  your  maouths  as  much 
as  you  're  a  min'  ter." 

A  half  hour's  march  brought  them  to  the  foot 
of  a  rocky  hill  densely  clad  with  a  black  growth 
of  spruce  and  fir,  whose  blue  shadows  deepened 
into  a  twilight  obscurity  that  the  infrequent 
shafts  of  sunlight  pierced  but  to  make  the  deeper. 
Three  sides  abutted  on  partially  cleared  fields,  the 


146  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

other  swept  up  with  a  long  curve  to  the  steepei 
declivities  of  the  mountain. 

The  triple  column,  now  separated  in  two  single 
files,  one  led  by  Captain  Peck,  the  other  by  Sam, 
began  to  inclose  the  hillock.  When  the  leaders 
met  on  the  further  side,  without  discovering  the 
outgoing  track  of  the  wolf,  word  was  passed  that 
the  circuit  was  completed,  and  the  order  given  for 
the  men  to  take  proper  distances  and  move  to 
ward  the  centre.  Gradually  the  circle  narrowed. 
The  gloomy  depths  of  thicket  after  thicket  were 
invaded  and  passed.  Each  moment,  the  more 
excitable  hunters  grew  nervous  with  expectation, 
the  cooler,  more  steadily  alert.  To  sonie,  every 
moving  shadow  took  on  a  wolfish  semblance ; 
steadfast  rocks  and  stumps  became  endowed  with 
grim,  alert  life ;  now  a  gun  was  leveled  to  an  un 
steady  aim  and  its  useless  discharge  forestalled  by 
the  sharp,  peremptory  caution  of  some  clear-eyed 
and  cool-headed  veteran,  till  at  last  the  word 
came  too  late  to  prevent  one  careless  shot,  which 
was  the  signal  for  a  scattered  fusilade  from  vari 
ous  posts  of  the  encircling  line. 

The  random  firing  aroused  the  wolf  from  his 
lair  and  sent  him  sneaking  from  one  border  of 
his  constricted  limits  to  find  another  as  effectu 
ally  guarded  against  his  passage.  Then  he  swept 
around  the  circle,  searching  with  eager  eyes  for 
some  vulnerable  point,  disclosing  fleeting  glimpses 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  14? 

of  himself  that  drew  upon  him  occasional  shots, 
which  increased  his  long,  regular  lopes  to  a  wild, 
scurrying  flight,  now  bounding  from  side  to  side 
of  the  cordon,  now  skirting  it  in  an  agony  of 
fear,  whimpering  as  he  ran,  now  halting,  half 
cowering,  while  he  looked  in  vain  for  some  loop 
hole  of  escape. 

Once,  as  he  thus  crouched  for  an  instant, 
Sam's  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  him,  and,  taking 
an  instantaneous  aim,  he  saw  the  sight  shining  in 
bright  relief  against  the  dark  gray  fur  of  the 
wolf's  side.  As  he  felt  the  trigger  yielding  to 
the  pressure  of  his  finger,  his  heart  filled  with 
anticipated  success,  but,  with  the  dull  click  that 
was  the  only  response  to  the  fall  of  the  striker,  it 
collapsed  and  sank  like  a  plummet. 

"  Cuss  them  caps  o'  Clapham's,"  he  groaned 
wrathfully,  "  if  one  on  'em  ever  does  go,  I  wish 
he  might  be  shot  with  it." 

A  shot  from  Captain  Peck's  gun  cut  loose  a 
shower  of  evergreen  twigs  above  the  wolf,  who 
cringed  beneath  their  light  downfall  and  then 
sprang  away,  vanishing  like  the  shadow  of  a 
wind-tossed  branch  in  the  gloom  of  the  thicket. 

Pelatiah's  post  was  on  the  valley  side  of  the 
hill  where  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  wolf  several 
times,  and  once  had  taken  a  hasty  and  ineffectual 
shot.  It  had  all  happened  in  a  flash,  and  he  was 
confusedly  trying  to  remember  whether  he  fired 


148  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

at  the  wolf  or  into  the  tree-tops,  and  to  forum* 
late  an  excuse  for  his  miss  that  should  be  satis 
factory  to  himself  as  well  as  to  others,  when  he 
was  startled  by  a  sudden  crash  of  dry  twigs  on 
the  crest  of  the  ledge  just  above  him,  and  almost 
at  the  same  instant  he  saw  the  animal  flying  at 
full  speed  down  the  sharp  declivity  directly  be 
hind  him,  so  close  upon  him  that  he  could  only 
think  to  shout  lustily  and  brandish  his  gun  to 
scare  the  brute-  back  into  the  woods,  but  it  only 
swerved  a  little  from  its  course  and  rushed  madly 
on. 

Not  many  paces  to  Pelatiah's  left  stood  Beri 
Burton,  as  gaunt  and  grim  as  the  wolf  himself, 
and  so  transfixed  with  surprise  at  the  sudden  ap 
parition  that  he  stood  stock  still,  his  large  jaws 
agape  till  the  wolf  was  within  his  gun's  length  of 
him,  and  he  stepped  backward  to  make  way. 
His  heel  caught  a  fallen  branch,  and  he  fell 
sprawling  on  his  back.  The  wolf,  snapping  and 
gnashing  his  white  fangs,  swept  over  his  prostrate 
form,  and,  clear  at  last  of  the  perilous  cordon, 
sped  away  toward  the  hills. 

Pelatiah  vainly  attempted  to  cover  him  with  a 
pottering  aim  for  a  moment,  then  took  the  track, 
and  presently  disappeared  among  the  blue  shad- 
ows  and  gray  tree  trunks. 

Beri  Burton  slowly  got  upon  his  feet,  sputter 
ing  and  mumbling,  till,  having  come  to  as  intelli* 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE   WOLF.  149 

gible  speech  as  was  possible  to  him,  he  shouted 
loudly :  — 

44  Wolf  gone.  Wolf  gone  ter  Jerooslum. 
Gol  dumb  sech  er  wolf."  Then  as  one  and  an 
other  of  the  party  came  hastening  up,  he  related 
again  and  again  the  incidents  of  the  wolf's  es 
cape.  "  Gol  dumb  sech  er  wolf.  Run  kerchug 
right  ergin  me  an'  knocked  me  over,  kerwollopp. 
Flopped  one  foot  int'  my  maouth.  Wisht  I  'd 
bit  foot  off.  Yes,  sir,  flopped  dumb  foot  right 
square  in  my  maouth." 

44  Can't  blame  him  as  I  knows  on,"  said  John 
Dart.  "  He  'd  got  tu  put  his  foot  somewheres." 

44  By  the  gre't  horn  spoon  !  we  're  a  smart  lot 
o'  men,"  said  Sam,  joining  the  gathering  group, 
44  to  let  that  wolf  git  away  from  us  in  that  way. 
All  Adams  an'  Pocock  '11  be  pokin'  fun  at  us  fer 
a  year  to  come." 

44  Why  did  n't  some  o'  you  smartins  shoot  him, 
then  ?  "  Beri  growled  ;  44  hed  chances  'nough,  I 
reckon,  by  the  bang-whangin'.  Gol  dumb  sech 
shootin'." 

44  Don't  seem  's  'ough  Adams  an'  Pocock  hed 
no  'casion  to  laugh,"  said  Joseph  Hill.  44  It 
wa'n't  their  wolf,  leastways  it  hain't  got  the  ear 
mark  er  brand  o'  ary  one  o'  the  towns,  fer  's  I 
c'n  see." 

44  'T  ain't  aour  wolf   nuther,   fer  's   appears," . 
said    Sam.      44  But    what    way    did    he    head? 


150  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

Where  's  Peltier  ?  Someb'dy  said  he  seen  him 
last." 

"  Dumb  fool 's  chasin'  on  him,"  Beri  mumbled, 
44  'Spec  he  's  goin'  tu  ketch  him,  prob'ble." 

44  Peltier  was  mos'  crazy  in  hees  head,"  An- 
toine  explained.  "  He  was  kanna  he-widder,  cos 
hees  gal  goin'  leff  him,  'fore  he  '11  got  marree  to- 
gedder." 

44  His  head  's  straighter  'n  aourn  on  this  busi 
ness,"  said  Sam,  "an'  we  might  as  well  mog 
along  arter  him.  The  hunt  is  up  for  tu-day. 
But  the  critter  may  lay  up  on  Hawg's  Back  to 
night  an*  give  us  a  chance  to-morrer." 

And  so  the  dejected  and  disappointed  wolf 
hunters  made  their  way  into  the  clearing,  each 
one  loudly  blaming  every  one  else,  and  himself 
silently  and  less  satisfactorily,  for  the  barren  re 
sult  of  the  hunt. 

On  the  morning  of  the  great  hunt  there  were 
at  least  two  non-participants,  who  through  being 
such  were  quite  as  heavy-hearted  as  were  now 
any  of  the  baffled  hunters.  Uncle  Lisha  sighed 
heavily  as  he  returned  to  the  shop  after  the  last 
of  several  tours  of  observation  which  he  made 
into  the  back  yard,  where  he  could  look  across 
the  fields  to  the  rendezvous  and  see  the  men 
already  clustering  in  knots  in  Joel  Bartlett's 
yard,  and  hear  the  subdued  jangle  of  arriving 
bells. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  151 

"  Ho,  hum,  I  'm  tew  short-winded  and  stiff- 
j'inted  tu  keep  within  hollerin'  distance  of  the 
oldest  an'  laziest  on  'em,  an'  I  might  jest  as  well 
seddaown  an'  go  tu  work,  but  I  wisht  a  feller's 
laigs  wouldn't  grow  oF  no  faster  'n  his  speerits. 
Ho,  hum !  "  and  settling  himself  into  his  seat,  he 
picked  up  his  board,  leather,  and  knife,  and  en 
deavored  to  lose  sight  of  age  and  infirmities  in 
the  intricacies  of  his  craft. 

Aunt  Jerusha  looked  in  through  the  open 
kitchen  door,  and  seeing  his  hands  resting  idly 
on  the  board,  and  his  eyes  staring  abstractedly 
out  of  the  window,  she  said  in  a  coaxing  voice :  — 

"  What  makes  ye  try  to  work,  Lisher  ?  I 
would  n't  ef  I  was  you.  The'  hain't  no  men  folks 
workin'  to-day.  Put  on  yer  kwut  an'  hat  an' 
mittens  an'  go  over  to  Joel's.  You  c'n  see  'em 
start  an'  git  the  fust  news  when  they  come  back. 
Would  n't  you,  Huldy?" 

"  Sartainly.  It  '11  do  you  good  an'  I  sh'd  like 
to  go  myself,"  Huldah  said  encouragingly,  as  she 
looked  in  over  Aunt  Jerusha's  shoulder,  and  the 
baby,  pushing  between  their  skirts,  scrambled 
over  to  the  old  man,  bearing  one  of  his  mittens  in 
his  milk  teeth. 

"  Wai,  I  swan,  ef  bubby  an'  the  hull  kit  on 
ye  are  sot  on  gittin'  red  on  me,  I  guess  I'll 
hafter."  And  so  smiling  down  upon  the  crowing 
child,  as  he  donned  his  outdoor  gear,  he  trudged 
forth  across  the  fields. 


152  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  It 's  a  mighty  pooty  idee  'at  I  hain't  a  goin* 
hi  turn  aout  along  wi'  the  rest  on  'em.  Tew  ol'  ? 
Hain't  so  spry  's  I  useter  be?  I  'm  younger 
an'  spryer  'an  you  be,  Joe  Hill,  ef  I  be  risin' 
eighty-seben."  So  Gran'ther  Hill  growled  and 
roared  as  he  stamped  to  and  fro  across  the 
kitchen  in  his  stocking  feet,  glowering  at  his  son's 
abashed  face,  as  at  each  turn  it  was  brought 
within  range  of  his  angry  eyes. 

"  Don't  seem 's  'ough  it  'ould  be  noways  best, 
father,"  Joseph  feebly  argued,  "  it 's  tew  exposin' ; 
you  'd  get  rheumatiz  an'  neurology." 

"  Rheumatiz  an'  ol'  rology  more  like.  Ef  I 
got  'em  they  wouldn't  hurt  me  none.  A  man 
'at's  marched  tu  Canady  in  the  winter  hain't 
agoin'  tu  be  skeered  aouten  a  wolf  hunt  by  a  pain 
in  his  laigs  er  a  toothache,  'specially  when  he 
hain't  got  no  teeth.  Naow,  look  a-here,  Jozeff," 
turning  before  his  son  and  assuming  a  less  ag 
gressive  tone,  "  I  've  got  to  go  an'  show  'em  haow. 
The'  hain't  a  man  jack  on  'em  'at  knows  beans 
about  wolf  huntin',  never  see  a  wolf  an'  would  n't 
know  one  if  they  did  see  him.  'T  ain't  no  ways 
likely  the'  is  a  wolf,  but  ef  the'  is,  he  'd  orter 
be  hunted  as  he  'd  ortu  be." 

"  Jes'  so,  father,"  said  Joseph,  catching  hope 
fully  at  the  veteran's  skepticism,  "  I  don't  b'lieve 
the'  is  no  wolf,  an'  the'  hain't  no  need  o'  you  er 
nob'dy  else  's  goin' ;  't  ain't  nothin'  on'y  dawgs." 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  153 

"  You  must  be  a  idjit,  Jozeff  Hill,  tu  think  'at 
dawgs  'ould  kill  sheep  in  the  way  them  was  killed. 
I  tell  ye  it 's  a  wolf,  an'  by  the  Lord  Harry  I  'm 
goin'  tu  help  kill  the  cussed  varmint.  Gi'  me 
that  aire  gun." 

"  The'  hain't  a  ball  er  a  spoo'ful  o'  shot  in  the 
haouse,  father." 

"  That 's  almighty  pooty  haousekeepin' ;  no 
shot  ner  ball?  You'd  a  tarnal  sight  better  be 
ketched  wi'out  tea  an'  sugar,  yes,  or  rum,  'an 
wi'out  ammernition.  Bub,  where 's  yer  fish  lines  ? 
Fetch  me  ev'y  sinker  you  got." 

The  younger  Josiah  obeyed  the  order  with  an 
alacrity  stimulated  by  a  desire  to  further  his 
grandfather's  purposes,  which,  if  carried  out, 
might  make  him  his  necessary  attendant. 

"  I  would  n't  go  if  I  was  you,  father,"  pleaded 
his  daughter-in-law,  "  it 's  tew  hard  fer  you,  an* 
then  ag'in,  I  want  you  tu  stay  an'  ta'  care  o'  me." 

"You  don't  need  nob'dy.  The  wolf  hain't 
a-goin'  tu  come  in  the  haouse  an'  eat  you.  Jozeff 
c'n  stay." 

"  But  you  see,  father,  I  sorter  promised  tu  go, 
an'  I  've  got  tu." 

"  So  hev  I  got  tu.     Gimme  my  boots." 

"  Father,"  said  the  son,  playing  his  last  card, 
with  an  air  of  deep  dejection,  "  I  'm  turrible  sorry, 
but  I  took  'em  over  to  Uncle  Lisher's  las'  night 
tu  git  'em  mended ;  "  and  he  breathed  a  silent 


154  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

prayer,  "  The  Lord  forgive  me  fer  lyin'  an'  keep 
me  from  gittin'  ketched  at  it." 

"You  etarnal,  infarnal,  meddlin'  idjit,"  his 
father  roared,  his  voice  shaken  with  anger,  "  haow 
dast  ye  send  my  boots  to  git  mended  ?  Haow  'd 
you  know  I  wanted  'em  mended,  say?  It  does 
beat  hell  amazin'ly,  what  tarnal  luck  I  did  hev,  a 
bringin'  on  ye  up.  I  don't  wisht  you  was  dead, 
but  I  swear,  I  wisht  I  hadn't  never  hed  ye. 
Clear  aout.  Go  an'  hunt  yer  tarnal  wolf,  but  ye 
shan't  take  my  gun.  Not  a  step  aouten  this 
haouse  does  that  aire  gun  go,  'thout  me  a  ker- 
ryin'  on 't.  You  c'n  take  Bub's  bow-arrer,  it 's 
good  'nough  fer  you.  Er  bony  Joel  Bartlett's 
ol'  britch-burnt,  hang-fire,  Quaker  gun.  Yeou 
shoot  a  wolf,  Lordermighty  !  " 

Joseph  fled  in  dismay  from  the  rattling  volley 
of  his  father's  wrath,  nor  stayed  his  steps  till 
they  brought  him  to  the  meeting  place,  while  his 
wife,  with  all  the  children  but  the  eldest  boy,  re 
treated  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  pantry.  Little 
Josiah,  secure  in  his  position  as  his  grandfather's 
favorite,  remained,  the  sole  and  undismayed  spec 
tator  of  the  old  man's  rage. 

"  Blast  'em.  Kerryin'  off  my  boots,"  the 
veteran  fumed,  still  pacing  the  rounds  of  the 
kitchen.  "  I  'm  a  good  minter  go  in  my  stock- 
in'  feet,  jes  tu  spite  'em.  I  hope  the  Lord  it 
hain't  nothin'  but  a  dawg.  The  idjits  would  n't 
know  the  diffunce." 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  155 

The  boy  held  out  two  plummets  of  hammered 
lead  and  one  half  bullet.  "  What  was  you  goin' 
to  do  wi'  'em?" 

"  Load  this  'ere  gun  wi'  'em,"  was  the  hoarsely 
whispered  reply.  "I  've  made  killin'  shots  at 
two-legged  and  four-legged  varmints  wi'  wus  slugs 
'an  these.  Gimme  me  a  holt  on  'em  an'  I  '11 
load  her  jest  fer  the  fun  on  't."  He  took  the 
big  gun  from  its  hooks  and  carefully  measured  in 
his  palm  a  charge  of  powder  from  the  great  ox- 
horn,  poured  it  into  the  barrel  and  wadded  it  with 
tow,  dropped  the  sinkers  in  one  by  one,  wadded 
them  and  primed  the  piece,  while  the  boy's  eyes 
closely  followed  every  movement. 

Maria  heard  the  clang  and  thud  of  the  iron 
ramrod  and  peered  anxiously  through  the  pantry 
door. 

"  Why,  father,  what  be  you  a-duin'  ?  " 

"  I  'm  gittin'  ready  tu  ta'  keer  on  ye  ag'in'  the 
wolf  tackles  ye,  M'rier,"  he  chuckled  scornfully. 
"  Shet  the  door,  M'rier,  an'  'tend  tu  yer  cookin' ; 
me  an'  Bub 's  stan'in'  guard."  He  fondled  the 
gun  and  wiped  the  dust  from  the  barrel  with  his 
coat  sleeve,  and  aimed  at  the  clock. 

"  Du  ye  wanter  go  awfle,  gran'ther  ? "  whis 
pered  Josiah. 

The  old  man  nodded  his  head  repeatedly  with 
out  withdrawing  his  aim  from  the  centre  of  the 
clock  face. 


156  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  Sh-h-h,  I  know  where  your  boots  be.  In 
the  paoundin'  berrel  in  the  back  shed.  I  '11 
fetch  'em  when  ma  goes  down  suller  arter  the 
'takers." 

The  grandsire's  slow,  senile  stare  gradually 
gave  way  to  a  look  of  intelligence,  and  the  two 
conspirators,  in  pantomime,  enjoined  secrecy. 

Wondering  at  the  sudden  silence,  Maria 
peeped  through  a  cranny  of  the  door  and  saw  the 
old  man  quietly  seated  in  his  chair,  and  called  to 
him  as  she  bustled  about  her  work  :  — 

"  I  'in  tumble  glad  you  gin  it  up  so  sensible, 
father." 

"Sho,  I  hedn't  no  idee  a-goin'.  I  was  jest 
a-foolin'  Jozeff.  Ketch  me  a-goin'  dawg  huntuV 
along  wi'  that  mess  o1  id  jits,"  and  he  winked 
hard  at  his  grandson,  who,  under  cover  of  the 
stove,  was  growing  red  with  smothered  mirth. 

"  My  sakes,"  said  Maria,  coming  out  and  look 
ing  at  the  clock,  "  I  mus'  git  the  pertaters  and 
put  that  fish  a-fresh'nin'." 

As  her  step  was  heard  on  the  last  cellar  stair, 
Josiah  stole  out  to  the  back  shed  and  presently 
appeared  with  the  boots,  which  his  grandfather 
drew  on  in  tremulous  haste,  while  the  boy,  after 
driving  the  small  children  back  into  the  pantry 
and  closing  the  door  upon  them,  brought  the  old 
man's  hat  and  cane. 

"  Hain't  it  lucky   Ruby  's  over  to   Briggses  ? 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  157 

Hurry  up,  gran'ther.  Ma  '11  be  up  in  a  min 
ute,"  he  whispered  as  he  hovered  about  the  an 
cestral  chair  in  a  fever  of  excitement.  Then  he 
opened  the  door  and  the  old  man  passed  out  as 
noiselessly  as  his  stiff  joints  would  let  him,  with 
his  long  gun  trailed  in  careful  avoidance  of  lintel 
and  posts,  just  as  the  muffled  thud  of  the  last 
potato  announced  the  filling  of  the  pan. 

"  Can't  I  go  with  you,  gran'ther  ?  "  Josiah 
asked  eagerly ;  but  his  heart  sank  as  he  read  re 
fusal  written  in  the  stern  yet  half-regretful  face 
bent  upon  him. 

"  Could  n't  nohaow,  sonny ;  't  would  n't  du  any 
good  an'  might  du  hurt.  Them  idjits  '11  shoot 
awful  keerless  an'  might  hit  you.  You  gwup  an' 
look  aouten  the  saouth  garret  winder,  an'  you  c'n 
see  Haidge  Hawg  Cobble  where  they  say  the 
wolf 's  lyin'  up.  Naow  go  an'  tell  'em  I  've  gone 
aout  tu  the  barn,  an'  so  I  hev,  an'  mebby  a  leetle 
bey  end."  He  gave  the  boy  an  approving  pat  on 
the  head  that  gave  some  comfort,  though  it  drove 
the  coarse  seal-skin  cap  over  his  eyes. 

The  veteran's  departure  was  covered  by  the 
barn  from  the  observation  of  the  inmates  of  the 
house.  As  he  plodded  across  the  snowy  fields 
his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  old  days  of  hum 
ble,  unrequited  heroism,  when  he  marched  with 
Warner  and  his  Green  Mountain  boys  to  Canada. 
In  a  misty  day  dream  he  saw  the  frozen  level  of 


158  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

Champlain  stretching  in  lifeless  loneliness  behind 
the  rangers'  march,  the  wintry  gloom  and  desola 
tion  of  the  forest  opening  to  them  the  only  path 
beyond,  lie  heard  again  the  click  and  swish  of 
snowshoes,  the  low,  cautious  word  of  command 
drifting  back  along  the  triple  files.  For  a  little 
space  it  quickened  his  pulse  and  pace,  and  for  a 
moment  he  was  young  again,  till,  tired  by  climb 
ing  a  high  rail  fence,  he  leaned  against  the  near 
est  stump  to  rest,  and  realized  that  he  was  but  a 
feeble  old  man,  the  superannuated,  sole  survivor  of 
the  band,  to  follow  whom,  he  lingered  a  little  on 
the  verge  of  the  eternal  mystery. 

"  A  goo'  for  nothin'  ol'  critter  as  orter  stay  tu 
hum  wi'  women  an*  young  uns,"  he  sighed,  half 
minded  to  turn  back,  when  his  eye  was  caught 
by  a  moving  speck  far  away  toward  Hedge  Hog 
Cobble.  Something  familiar  in  the  movements 
of  the  distant  object  drew  upon  it  the  veteran's 
closest  scrutiny. 

"  That  hain't  no  dawg,  it 's  tew  big  fer  a  fox. 
By  the  Lord  Harry,  it 's  a  wolf,  an'  he  's  a-com- 
in'  stret  tu  me." 

He  sank  stiffly  behind  the  stump  and  cocked 
his  gun  while  he  steadfastly  watched  the  beast's 
swift  approach.  Now  he  could  see  the  wild,  cun 
ning  eyes,  now  the  red  tongue  hanging  slavering 
from  the  white-fanged  jaws,  and  now  he  aimed, 
with  all  the  skill  that  eye  and  nerve  could  com- 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  159 

mand,  just  before  the  pointed  nose,  and  with  a 
prayer  as  devout  as  he  ever  uttered,  pulled  the 
trigger,  as  with  swift,  long  lopes  the  wolf  ran 
past,  fifty  yards  away.  With  a  snarling  yelp,  a 
long,  floundering  fall,  and  a  quicker  recovery  of 
his  feet,  with  a  broken  foreleg  helplessly  dangling, 
the  wolf  charged  wildly  at  the  fence,  clung  a 
moment  to  the  top  rail,  fell  back,  and  then 
plunged  at  the  nearest  but  too  narrow  interstice 
between  the  rails.  The  impetus  of  the  leap  drove 
him  halfway  through,  but  there  he  was  caught 
at  the  hips.  He  pushed  desperately  with  the  un 
injured  foreleg  and  clawed  vainly  with  his  hind 
feet  for  a  hold  on  the  nether  rail,  and  was  slowly 
worming  his  way  through,  when  Gran'ther  Hill 
pounced  upon  him,  seizing  him  by  both  hindlegs, 
and,  bracing  his  own  feet  against  the  fence,  he 
held  on  and  shouted  lustily  for  help  at  the  top  of 
his  high-pitched,  cracked  voice. 

The  wolf  writhed  from  side  to  side,  and  snapped 
his  wicked  jaws  within  two  feet  of  his  captor's 
hands,  without  being  able  to  harm  him,  but  his 
struggles  were  fast  exhausting  the  strength  of  the 
old  man,  who,  almost  in  despair,  saw  the  prize 
slipping,  inch  by  inch,  through  the  fence. 

Then  he  heard  rapid  steps,  and  turning  his 
head  he  saw  Pelatiah's  lank  figure  close  beside 
him. 

"  Ketch  a  holt  here,  quick,"  he  gasped. 


160  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

Pelatiah  lent  one  strong  hand  to  his  relief,  and 
the  old  man  loosed  his  hold.  Snatching  the  gun 
from  Pelatiah,  he  staggered  to  the  fence,  and, 
with  a  cruelly  deliberate  aim  at  three  feet  range, 
bored  the  wolf's  skull  with  the  heavy  charge  of 
buckshot.  "  There,"  he  panted,  as  with  a  grim 
smile  he  regarded  the  last  struggles  of  his  victim 
when  Pelatiah  had  drawn  it  forth  from  the  fence, 
"  he  knows  naow  what  he  gits  by  runnin'  ag'in'  a 
real  ol'-fashioned  hunter.  S'pose  he  cal'lated 
the'  waVt  none  left,  an'  the'  hain't  on'y  one. 
But  I  'm  almighty  glad  you  come,  young  Gove, 
fer  I  was  nigh  abaout  tuckered,  an'  ef  I  lied  tu 
let  go,  the  critter  might  ha'  flummixed  along  a 
good  piece  afore  I  c'ld  ha'  loaded  up.  Good 
Lord,"  he  gasped,  aghast  at  the  sudden  recollec 
tion  that  he  had  no  ammunition,  "  I  hed  n't  an 
other  charge.  Wai,  I  be  glad  you  come,  young 
Gove.  Where 's  the  rest  of  the  id  jits  ?  Git  up 
on  ter  the  fence  an'  holler  like  a  loon." 

Pelatiah's  triumphant  shouts  soon  brought  in 
the  foremost  of  the  straggling  pursuers,  who,  as 
they  beheld  the  dead  wolf  and  heard  the  story  of 
his  death,  were  variously  moved  with  admiration 
of  his  slayer's  prowess  and  chagrin  for  their  own 
lack  of  it. 

"  By  the  gret  horn  spoon  !  "  cried  Sam,  strok 
ing  the  wolf's  gaunt  side  almost  tenderly  and 
looking  up  at  the  old  man's  serenely  happy  face, 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  161 

"  I  'd  ha'  gi'n  the  ol'  Ore  Bed  1  tu  ha'  shot  the 
critter  myself,  but  I  do'  know  but  I  'm  gladder 
you  done  it,  Cap'n  Hill." 

"I  reckon  'at  my  chances  is  gittin'  a  leetle 
scaser  'n  yourn,  Sammy.  But  you  might  profit 
more  by  them  'at  you  git,  ef  I  'd  hed  the  bringin' 
on  you  up.  I  consait  you  hed  the  makin's  of  a 
hunter  in  ye  ef  ye  'd  on'y  hed  me  er  even  Peleg 
Sunderlan'  tu  eddicate  your  nat'ral  gifts." 

"  Hooray  for  Danvis  !  "  roared  John  Dart  as 
he  came  upon  the  scene.  "  Adams,  ner  Pocock, 
ner  nary  other  town  can  twit  us  o'  losin'  aour 
wolf  naow,  Lovel.  I  was  growin'  shameder  an' 
shameder  tu  meet  any  on  'em,  an'  was  studyin' 
more  lies  tu  tell  'em  'an  I  c'ld  ever  ben  forgive 
fer  under  any  circumstances.  You  've  saved  the 
credit  of  your  taown,  Cap'n  Hill,  an'  mebby  my 
soul." 

"  Gol  dumb  sech  savin',"  Beri  Burton  growled. 
"  Danvis  hain't  got  much  tu  brag  on  when  it 's 
got  tu  ressureck  the  dead  a'most,  tu  kill  a  wolf." 

"  Shet  yer  head,"  Dart  growled  savagely. 

"  An'  call  aout  the  infants,"  Beri  persisted. 
"  He  would  n't  er  shot  er  wolf  if  that  aire 
shimble-shanked  Gove  boy  hed  n't  er  hel'  his 
laigs." 

"  He  'd  waounded  him,  so  't  he  could  n't  but 
jest  go,  an'  he  'd  got  him  e'en  a'most  killed  when 
I  come  up,"  Pelatiah  magnanimously  protested. 

1  A  famous  gun,  so  called  for  its  great  weight. 


162  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

"  It  was  some  pooty  good  lucky  dat  wolf  's  ant 
be  one  loup  garou.  You  '11  can'  keel  dat  kan  o' 
wolfs  'less  you  '11  shot  it  wid  silver  ball." 

"  Wai,  I  swan  that  was  lucky,"  said  Dart ;  "  I 
don't  b'lieve  you  could  rake  up  a  charge  o'  silver 
amongst  the  hull  bilin'  of  us.  I  don't  s'pose  cop 
per  change  '11  pass  wi'  them  aire  thingumbobs, 
woidd  it,  Antwine  ?  Wai,  le'  's  stop  our  gab  an' 
start  aour  caravan.  We  've  got  tu  show  tu  the 
village  this  arternoon.  Where  's  Cap'n  Peck  ?  " 

"  Skinned  it  fer  hum,  half  an  hour  ago,"  some 
one  answered. 

"  Wai,  let  him  go.  I  was  goin'  tu  propose  'at 
we  fired  a  s'lute,  but  nev'  mind.  Who  's  got  a 
gun  's  long  's  Cap'n  Hill's  ?  Fetch  it  here.  Lay 
it  daown  'longside  o'  his'n.  Naow,  lay  the  wolf 
top  on  'em.  Naow,  Cap'n  Hill,  you  set  top  o' 
the  wolf." 

"  Yis,  du !  Yis,  du  !  "  other  voices  shouted 
with  Dart.  The  hero  of  the  day  rather  reluc 
tantly  complied. 

"  Ketch  a  holt  o'  the  muzzles,  Lovel,  an'  I  '11 
take  the  butts.  Up  he  goes,"  and  the  veteran 
hunter  and  his  grim  quarry  were  lifted  aloft  and 
borne  forward,  amid  the  cheers  of  the  party. 

"What  's  up?"  Joseph  Hill  panted,  breathless 
with  his  exertions  to  overtake  his  comrades. 

"Your  superannual,  ancient  sire  is,  Jozeff," 
said  Solon,  "  him  an'  the  wolf.  Hain't  you  hearn 
how  he  slewed  him  ?  " 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  WOLF.  163 

"  Good  Lord,"  Joseph  groaned ;  recognizing 
the  elevated  countenance  of  his  father,  his  eyes 
anxiously  sought  his  feet. 

Catching  sight  of  him  the  old  man  bent  upon 
him  a  frown,  the  severity  of  which  was  somewhat 
softened  by  the  pride  of  his  achievement,  and 
laughed  down  at  him  scornfully,  "  You  ondutiful 
leetle  cuss,  you  hid  my  boots,  did  you  ?  Did  you 
s'pose  a  man  'at  had  took  Ticonderogue  an'  fit  tu 
Ben'n't'n  an'  went  tu  Canady  'long  wi'  Seth 
Warner  an'  hunted  Tories  wi'  Peleg  Sunderlan', 
could  n't  smell  aout  his  own  boots  ?  You  must 
be  a  almighty  smart  boy." 

Though  conscious  that  his  artifice  was  justified 
by  his  headstrong  father's  infirmities,  Joseph  fell 
to  the  rear  in  confusion,  and  the  procession  con 
tinued  its  triumphal  progress  to  Joel  Bartlett's. 

Uncle  Lisha  had  waddled  forth  to  meet  it, 
roaring  a  welcome  that  was  heard  at  every  house 
in  the  neighborhood.  When  Joel  beheld  the 
grim  trophy  he  was  startled  from  his  accustomed 
propriety,  by  the  whistle  that  escaped  unwittingly 
from  the  long-puckered  lips. 

"  Friends,"  he  said,  chanting  in  the  monotonous 
tune  to  which  his  sermons  were  set,  "  I  feel  to 
thank  you,  one  an'  all,  for  a-girdin'  on  your  swords 
an*  a-goin'  forth  tu  battle  against  the  beasts  of  the 
field  which  they  ravage  aour  folds,  an',  as  it  ware, 
spile  our  barnyards.  I  thank  you,  friends,  fer 


164  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

a-stretchin'  forth  your  carnal  weepons  in  behalf  of 
a  man  whose  ways  has  ben  more  led  untu  the 
plowshare  an'  the  prunin'  hook  'an  tu  the  sword 
an'  the  spear.  There  's  suthin'  due  more  'n  thanks 
tu  mortal  man,  an'  I  feel  it  bore  in  on  me  tu  ask 
you,  one  an'  all,  tu  enter  my  haouse "  (as  he 
paused  and  ran  his  eye  over  the  company,  as  if 
making  a  mental  computation  of  its  numbers  and 
capacity,  more  than  one  hungry  stomach  yearned 
for  the  anticipated  offering  of  doughnuts  and 
cheese),  "  an'  git  intu  the  quiet  an'  render  silent 
thanks  tu  Him  'at  has  been  pleased  to  reward 
your  indivors  with  victory.  Arter  which,"  Joel 
continued  after  a  solemn  pause,  "Jemimy,  my 
wife,  will  pervide  some  sustenance  for  your  carnal 
bodies,  tu  which  you  will  be  most  welcome." 

Few  were  inclined  to  accept  the  invitation  to  a 
repast,  the  first  course  whereof  was  likely  to  be 
long  and  unsatisfying  to  their  present  need,  and 
so  with  thanks  and  excuses  almost  all  hastened  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  more  exhilarating  and  sub 
stantial  refreshments  that  were  to  be  found  at  the 
tavern  and  store. 

Gran'ther  Hill's  crown  of  laurels  was  further 
weighted  with  fresh  contributions,  some  sprigs  of 
which  he  generously  permitted  to  adorn  the  youth 
ful  brow  of  Pelatiah,  and  was  more  content  to  en 
robe  himself  in  the  misty  glories  of  the  past  alone 
than  to  share  these  present,  flimsy  honors  with 
another. 


CHAPTER  IX, 


HASTY   PUDDIN.' 


DESERTION  by  its  men  folks  had  not  brought 
complete  quiet  to  the  Lovel  homestead,  any  more 
than  to  others  that  day  similarly  deserted  in  Dan- 
vis,  for  the  women's  tongues  enjoyed  unrestrained 
freedom  to  wag  at  will. 

Aunt  Jerusha  fully  realized  the  privilege,  when, 
after  stopping  at  the  shop  window  to  watch  her 
husband's  slow  progress  across  the  fields,  she  re- 
entered  the  kitchen,  and,  seating  herself  restfully 
in  her  favorite  chair,  she  took  out  her  snuffbox 
and  regaled  herself  with  a  long-inhaled  pinch  of 
the  fragrant  powder,  to  which  she  in  turn  invited 
each  nostril  with  impartial  twists  of  her  mouth 
from  side  to  side.  When  she  had  returned  the 
box  to  the  deep  pocket  and  fumbled  forth  her 
copperas-checked,  homespun  handkerchief,  she 
settled  back  in  her  chair  and  made  declaration :  — 

"  I  will  say,  Huldy,  'twixt  you  an'  me  an'  the 
whippin'  pos',  'at  it 's  a  raal  comfort  oncte  in  a 
while  tu  be  clean  red  o'  men  folks.  Not  tu  say 
but  what  I  set  store  by  well-behaved  men  folks, 
sech  as  aourn'  be,  an'  consider  'em  a  necessary 


166  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

blessin',  but  you  do  git  cl'yecl  o'  the  best  o'  things 
arter  tew  long  spells." 

Huldah  picked  up  the  baby  from  the  floor, 
seated  him  on  her  lap,  wiped  his  chubby  cheeks 
with  a  moistened  corner  of  her  apron,  and  kissed 
them  with  long  inhalations  of  their  subtle  fra 
grance  that  only  a  mother  can  catch,  before  she 
answered. 

"  I  'spect  'at  th'  was  a  time  when  you  could  n't 
hev  tew  much  of  Uncle  Lisher,  an'  begun  to 
hanker  arter  him  the  minute  he  was  out  of  sight." 

The  russet  of  the  wrinkled  cheeks  was  tinged 
with  a  faint  blush  that  kindled  a  responsive  glow 
in  Huldah's  conscious  face,  and  both  laughed  an 
acknowledgment  of  the  touch  of  nature  that  makes 
youth  and  age  akin. 

"  I  hain't  denyin'  young  folkses'  foolishness, 
but  that  don't  signify.  What  I  du  say  is,  'at 
when  folks  gits  settled  daown  to  the  tussle  o' 
livin',  there  be  times  when  it 's  restin'  tu  hev 
men  folks  aouten  the  way.  Women  wants  a 
chance  tu  talk  about  their  consarns,  an'  argy  their 
own  way.  Somehaow  men  can't  argy,  but  keep 
a-givin'  their  reasons  an'  their  whys  an'  where 
fores.  Women  know  a  thing  is  so,  an'  jest 
stick  tu  it,  an'  thet  's  argyin'  'at  gin'ally  fetches 
men  araound  er  shets  'em  up,  which  answers  the 
puppus." 

"  Yes,"  Huldah  concluded,  as  she  trotted  her 


HASTY  PUDDIN\  167 

boy  at  arm's  length  and  looked  at  him  in  absorbed 
admiration,  "  I  s'pose  the  common  run  o'  men 
folks  is  sot  an'  onreasonable,  but  it  does  n't  seem 
's  'ough  Sam  was,  on'y  mebby  a  leetle  grain  'baout 
goin'  huntin'  an'  sech." 

"  Wai,  I  can't  say  'at  father  is  nuther,  not  in 
a  giii'ral  way,  ner  yet  yer  father  Lovel.  Semanthy 
argy'd  him  aouten  that.  But  all  men  folks  ain't 
like  aourn,  an'  I  like  tu  git  shet  of  even  them 
oncte  in  a  while,  an'  have  a  raal  ri'  daown  womern's 
talk.  I  do'  know  as  I  enj'yed  it  much  wi'  George's 
wife,  'cause  she  was  everlastin'ly  blamin'  George, 
which  went  ag'in'  my  gizzard;  fer  if  there 
ever  was  a  'commerdatin',  clever  man,  George  is, 
if  he  is  my  son,  an'  she  'd  orter  know  it.  But 
with  you,  Huldy,  I  enj'y  talkin'."  So  they  fell 
into  comforting  discourse,  which  continued  until 
Huldah  became  aware  that  the  fire  was  burning 
low,  and  a  glance  at  the  clock  apprised  her  that 
it  was  drawing  toward  noon. 

"  My  sakes !  "  she  cried,  hastily  setting  the  baby 
on  the  floor  and  rising  with  the  same  movement, 
"  ef  it  hain't  jest  warnin'  fer  twelve  an'  I  hain't 
done  a  stroke  'baout  dinner." 

"  Wai,  Huldy,  it  don't  signify.  Le'  's  don't 
git  a  reg'lar  dinner,  but  jest  make  us  a  cup  o' 
tea  an'  hev  a  col'  bite  ;  the'  hain't  no  men  folks 
tu  be  p'tic'lar." 

"  I  tell  ye  what,"  said  Huldy,  moved  with  a 


1C8  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

sudden  inspiration,  "  le'  's  hev  some  hasty  puddin'. 
I  ben  hankerin'  arter  some  this  ever  so  long,  but 
Sam  says  it  s  dog-robbin',  an'  father  LoveL,  he 
don't  like  it.  You  like  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Good  land,  guess  I  du.  The'  hain't  no  hul- 
somer  ner  cleaner-tasted  victuals,  ner  cheaper  ner 
easier  got.  Lisher  likes  it,  tew,  but  he  says  it  don't 
stay  by  him  none,  an'  ef  he  's  goin'  tu  eat  pud- 
din'  an'  milk  fer  supper  he  wants  tu  ondress  him 
fust  an'  sit  on  the  aidge  o'  the  bed  an'  swaller  it  as 
quick  as  he  can,  an'  then  tumble  in  an7  go  tu 
sleep  afore  he  gits  hungry.  My  land,  these  'ere 
apples  is  a-dryin'  complete,"  as  she  ran  her  hand 
along  the  tawny  festoons  and  critically  pinched 
some  of  the  lower  quarters,  "  they  feel  raal 
luthery  a'ready.  Be  you  goin'  tu  sell  'em  tu 
Clapham  er  trade  'em  off  tu  peddlers  ?  I  s'pose 
you  can't  git  cash  nary  way." 

"  They  say  they  pay  cash  for  'em  tu  V'gennes, 
an'  I  'm  goin'  tu  coax  Sam  tu  take  'em  down 
there  when  he  sells  his  fur,"  Huldah  said,  amid 
the  clatter  of  setting  the  kettle  of  water  on  the 
stove. 

"  Wai,  so  I  woidd ;  the'  hain't  no  sense  in  let 
ting  Clapham  er  peddlers  make  tew  profits  on  sech 
barter.  Du  you  wet  up  your  meal  in  col'  water 
fust  er  stir  it  right  in  when  the  water  biles  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  stir  it  right  int'  the  kittle  as  soon  as  it 
biles,"  said  Huldah,  bringing  the  pudding-stick 


HASTY  PUDDIN*.  169 

and  the  basin  of  meal,  "an'  I  salt  it  well  when 
it 's  abaout  as  thick  as  gruel." 

"So  du  I,"  and  the  old  woman  nodded  em 
phatic  approval  of  the  dry  meal  method.  "  It 's 
more  partic'lar  work  and  there  's  more  danger  of 
it 's  bein'  lumpy ;  but  it  need  n't  be,  if  you  're 
keerful  tu  sprinkle  in  slow  an'  keep  a-stirrin'  the 
same  way  all  the  time.  I  think  it 's  tastier  made 
so.  Old  ways  is  best  ways  as  a  gin'ral  thing. 
But,  law  sakes,  I  du  despise  lumpy  puddin'. 
Crumbles  o'  dry  meal  breakin'  up  in  your  maouth 
an'  chokin'  you,  when  you  're  expectin'  nourish 
ment  !  " 

She  critically  watched  Huldah  as  she  sifted 
the  meal  into  the  seething  kettle  with  one  hand 
and  stirred  it  with  rapid  turns  of  the  other,  while 
the  wholesome  fragrance  of  the  boiled  meal  and 
the  parching  of  the  few  grains  scattered  on  the 
stove  began  to  diffuse  itself  through  the  room. 
Then  when  the  stick  was  lifted  and  dripped  its 
burden  in  an  even  stream,  her  face  relaxed  to  an 
expression  of  satisfaction. 

"  It 's  as  smooth  as  'lasses,  Huldy.  Naow  be 
you  goin'  to  make  a  lawful  puddin'  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  abaout  no  law  fer  puddin'." 

"  Wai,  there  was  in  Connecticut  in  an  airly 
day.  Ye  see  most  ev'ybody  'at  was  anyways 
forehanded  useter  hev  'printice  boys  an*  gals 
bound  tu  'em  till  they  come  of  age,  an'  some  on 


170  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

'em  useter  keep  th'  'printices  on  hasty  puddin', 
an'  made  it  so  thin  'at  it  wa'n't  much  more  'n 
gruel  an'  starved  the  poor  creeturs  so  't  they 
would  n't  sca'cely  make  a  shadder  ;  an'  so  the 
Leegislatur  passed  a  law  'at  they  got  tu  make 
hasty  puddin'  so  thick  'at  the  puddin'  stick  'ould 
stan'  right  up  in  the  middle  of  the  kittle.  But 
I  'd  ruther  not  have  it  quite  so  thick  fer  me  tu 
eat,  bein'  'at  I  hain't  a  'printice  gal.  You  've  got 
it  thick  'nouffh.  Naow  set  it  on  the  back  o' 

O 

the  stove  an'  let  it  blubber  a  spell.  Oh,  hum 
suzzy  day !  Haow  that  blubberin'  kittle  o'  b'ilin' 
hot  puddin'  does  kerry  me  back  tu  ol'  times, 
when  the  bear  come  right  int'  the  haouse  an' 
tipped  over  aour  kittle  o'  puddin'.  Didn't  I 
ever  tell  ye  on 't  ?  Wai,  't  was  when  I  was  a  gal 
an'  we  lived  in  a  lawg  haouse,  an'  father  an'  mo 
ther  'd  gone  off  tu  see  a  sick  neighbor  an'  left  us 
young  uns  tu  keep  haouse.  But  we  let  the  haouse 
keep  itself  pooty  much,  an'  hed  high  jinks  till  it 
got  tu  be  'long  in  the  arternoon,  an'  the  childern 
begin  tu  git  hungry,  an'  I  sot  tu  make  a  kittle  o' 
puddin'  fer  'em.  Wai,  I'd  took  it  off  'n  the 
trammel  an'  sot  it  on  the  hairth  tu  cool,  an'  the  I 
childern  was  stan'in'  'raoun'  wi'  the'  maouths  ; 
a-waterin'  an'  the'  wooden  bowls  an'  pewter  spoons 
in  the'  hands,  when  I  ketched  a  glimpse  of  a  shad 
der  tu  the  open  door,  an',  lookin'  raound,  what  did 
I  see  but  a  gret,  monst'ous  bear  a-lookin'  in  at 


HASTY  PUDDING  171 

us.  My,  if  I  did  n't  hustle  them  young  uns  up 
the  ladder  int'  the  charmber  an'  I  up  arter  'em 
an'  pulled  the  ladder  up  arter,  quicker  'n  scat. 
We  c'ld  hear  the  critter's  claws  clicken  along  the 
floor  towards  the  fireplace,  an'  when  we  got  over 
bein'  scairt  a  leetle,  we  peeked  daown  through 
the  cracks  an'  seen  him  go  up  tu  the  kittle  an' 
smell  on  't.  Then  he  poked  his  nose  in  an' 
lapped  a  mou'ful,  an'  he  kinder  squealed  aout 
an'  lapped  his  chops.  He  made  at  it  ag'in  an' 
got  burnt  ag'in,  an'  that  made  'him  mad  an'  he  hit 
the  kittle  a  whack  'at  sent  it  clean  across  the 
floor  an'  sent  the  puddin'  flyin',  fer  it  wa'n't 
lawful  puddin',  an'  he  got  some  on  tu  his  feet,  an', 
of  course,  it  scalt  him,  an'  you  'd  orter  seen  that 
creetur  dance  araound  an'  whine  an'  suck  his 
paws,  julluk  a  boy  wi'  his  finger  pinched,  an'  we 
lay  there  an'  snickered.  He  got  a  taste  o'  the 
puddin'  an'  took  a  sensible  view  o'  the  case,  an' 
sot  tu  an'  eat  up  ev'y  smitch  on  't,  an'  arter  awhile 
went  #-shoolin'  off.  We  lost  aour  puddin',  but 
we  cal'lated  we  hed  fun  'nough  tu  pay  for  't. 
Ho,  hum !  Folks  was  thankful  tu  git  hasty  pud- 
din'  an'  samp  them  times.  Father  an'  mother 
come  here  jest  afore  the  '  Sca'ce  Year '  when  lots 
o'  folks  hed  tu  bile  beech  an'  basswood  leaves  tu 
live  on.  Aour  folks  hed  one  caow  'at  they  fed 
on  browse  'nough  tu  keep  her  givin'  a  leetle  mess 
o'  milk,  an'  father  'd  ketch  traout  an'  minnies  an' 


172  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

mother  \\  kinder  stew  'em  in  the  milk  an'  they 
kep'  soid  an'  body  tugether  on  sech  livin'  till 
things  took  a  turn.  More  'n  oncte  next  winter 
father  went  forty  miles  on  his  snowshoes  tu  git  a 
bushel  o'  Injun  meal  an'  left  mother  an'  my  old 
est  brother,  not  so  ol*  as  bubby  here,  wi'  the 
wolves  a  haowlin'  all  araound  the'  lawg  haouse. 
I  wonder  'f  aour  men  folks  will  git  that  aire 
wolf.  Haow  Gran'ther  Hill  will  tew,  'cause  he 
can't  go.  'Course  they  won't  let  him,  but  I  don't 
wanter  be  in  M'rier's  shoes  this  day.  In  course 
I  '11  draw  up,"  and  Aunt  Jerusha  hitched  her 
rocking  chair  to  the  table  and  tasted  her  first 
mouthful  of  pudding  and  maple  sugar,  and  still 
continued  to  discourse  of  the  old  pioneer  days. 

"  Folks  was  glad  an'  thankful  tu  git  hasty  pud- 
din'  an'  milk  an'  johnny-cake  in  them  times,  or 
even  no-cake.  You  never  hearn  o'  no-cake  ?  Wai, 
that  was  parched  corn  paounded  up  in  a  mortar 
an'  eat  wi'  milk  ef  they  hed  it,  an'  ef  they  hed  n't, 
jest  mixed  up  wi'  water.  They  1'arnt  that  >of  the 
In j ins,  an'  they  lowed  it  'ould  stan'  by  a  man 
longer  'n  any  other  Injin  corn  fixin's.  Then  they 
uster  make  samp  in  the  Plumpin'  mill,  big  mor 
tars  they  was,  'at  went  wi'  a  spring  pole,  an'  they  'd 
change  off  ontu  samp  when  they  got  sick  o'  no- 
cake.  Hasty  puddin'  an'  johnny-cake  they  could 
n't  hev,  'thout  gittin'  the  corn  graound  tu  a  reg'- 
lar  mill,  an'  them  was  mebby  forty  miled  off 


HASTY  PUDDIN\  173 

Bimeby  they  got  tu  raisin'  wheat,  an'  then  some 
folks  begin  to  stick  up  the'  noses  at  Injin.  But 
aour  folks  did  n't,  'cause  they  come  f 'm  Rho' 
Dislan'  an'  allers  sot  gret  store  by  all  sorts  o' 
Injin  victuals.  Father  allers  would  hev  his 
johnny-cake  fer  breakfus'  an'  hev  it  baked  on  a 
board,  long  after  they  hed  'em  a  stove.  You 
never  eat  a  johnny-cake  baked  on  a  board  ?  You 
don't  say.  Wai,  then,  you  do'  know  what  johnny- 
cake  is,  Huldy.  Haow  did  they  make  'em  ?  Wai, 
jest  stirred  up  the  meal  wi'  b'ilin'  water  an'  salt, 
not  tew  thick  ner  tew  thin,  an'  then  spread  it  ontu 
a  oak  board  'at  was  made  a-puppus,  an'  sot  it  up 
afore  the  fire,  tilted  a  leetle  mite  at  fust  ag'in'  a 
flat  iron,  an'  kep'  a-settin'  it  up  stretter  an'  stretter 
till  that  side  was  done,  an'  then  turn  it  over  an' 
bake  t'  other  side,  an'  all  the  time  keep  a-bastin' 
on 't  wi'  sweet  cream,  an'  then  eat  it  an'  be  thank 
ful  'at  the  Lord  made  Injin  corn  tu  grow  an'  give 
his  creeturs  the  knowledge  tu  use  it  proper.  But 
as  I  was  sayin',  the'  was  folks  'at  got  'shamed  o' 
eatin'  Injin,  'cause  once  they  'd  ben  obleeged  tu, 
an'  they  just  turned  the'  backs  on  the'  ol'  friend 
they  was  so  much  beholden  tu,  jest  as  folks  allers 
has,  an'  will.  The'  's  folks  here  now  'at  won't 
tech  Injin.  They  say  Cap'n  Peck  hes  got  some 
three-pronged  forks,  an'  they  're  jest  a-starvin' 
'smselves  tryin'  tu  eat  their  victuals  wi'  'em,  but 
I  d'  know.  Haow  father  did  useter  laugh,"  she 


174  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

continued  meditatively,  stirring  the  maple  syrup 
into  her  saucer  of  pudding,  "  a-tellin'  'baout  oncte 
when  he  went  intu  a  neighbor's,  an'  they  sot  tu 
the  table  eatin'  breakfus',  an'  he  seen  the  womern 
ketch  up  suthin'  an'  hide  it  under  her  apron.  Of 
course  they  ast  him  tu  set  by,  an'  he  did,  for  all 
he  'd  jest  eat,  an'  fust  thing  arter  he  'd  set  daown, 
he  says,  '  Molly  Hackstaff,  take  that  aire  johnny- 
cake  outen  your  apron,  fer  I  want  some,'  an'  she 
did.  Most  o'  folks  lies  got  over  sech  foolishness, 
but  there  's  some  'at  hain't  an'  denies  'emselves 
good  hulsome  victuals  outen  pride.  But  my  land 
sakes,  Bubby  hain't  a-goin'  tu  ;  du  jest  see  that 
chil'  reachin'  fer  the  spoon  faster  'n  you  give  it 
tu  him,"  and  she  looked  intense  approval  of  the 
baby's  assaults  upon  the  pudding,  "  an'  his  cheeks 
is  all  daubed  wi'  'lasses,  but  it  can't  make  'em  no 
sweeter,  no,  it  can't.  No,  thank  ye,  I  can't  eat 
another  maou'ful." 

"  Then,  I  guess,"  said  Huldah,  beginning  hur 
riedly  to  clear  away  the  few  dishes,  "  I  '11  git  the 
tilings  washed  up  an'  the  puddin'  kittle  aout  o* 
sight  'fore  —  " 

44  Why,  Huldy  Lovel,"  Aunt  Jerusha  laughed, 
"  I  du  Vlieve  you  're  afeared  the  men  folks  '11 
come  hum  an'  find  aout  we  ben  hevin'  hasty  pud- 
din'.  Why,  there  's  puddin'  'nough  left  for 
Drive's  supper,  ef  you  don't  fry  it  fer  breakfus', 
an'  it  is  propper  good  fried." 


HASTY  PUDDING 

The  men  did  not  return  from  the  village  till 
the  evening  chores  called  them.  Huldah  could 
scarcely  share  her  husband's  satisfaction  in  the 
achievement  of  Gran'ther  Hill,  for  it  seemed  to 
her  that  the  honor  should  rightfully  have  fallen 
to  the  mightiest  hunter  of  Danvis.  The  supper- 
table  talk  and  the  later  conversation  around  the 
glowing  fire  were  all  of  the  day's  events,  nor  was 
the  subject  exhausted  when  some  of  the  tired 
hunters,  frequenters  of  the  shop,  began  to  drop  in. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LE   LOUP   GAROU. 

"  I  DON'T  see,"  Joseph  began,  as  he  fortified 
the  unstable  chair  by  setting  its  back  against  the 
wall,  "  haow  father  ever  got  a  holt  o'  his  boots 
when  I'd  hid  'em  in  the  paoundin'  berril,  an' 
made  him  b'lieve  they  was  over  here  a-bein' 
mended." 

"  It  was  a  jedgment  on  ye  fer  lyin',"  said  Uncle 
Lisha. 

tk  It  waVt  exactly  lyin',  'cause  I  was  cal'latin' 
tu  fetch  'ein  over." 

"  Proberbly  they  was  revealed  tu  him  in  a  pro 
vision,"  Solon  remarked. 

^  "  However  he  got  'em,  I  'm  glad  he  did,"  said 
Sam  with  an  emphatic  squeak  of  the  roll  of  sole 
leather  on  which  he  sat.  "  If  he  hed  n't,  we  'd  lost 
the  wolf." 

^  "  Wai,  he  's  tickleder  'an  ef  he  'd  hed  his  pen- 
sion  doubled  an'  was  promisin'  Josier  five  dollars 
o'  the  baounty  fer  his  sinkers  an'  fer  4  you  knows 
what,  bub,'"  says  he.  "By  geewhitteker,"  he 
ejaculated,  his  mind  suddenly  illumined,  "  I  '11  bet 
fo'pence  ha'penny  that  aire  boy  ramshacked  raound 
an'  faound  'em  fer  him." 


LE  LOUP  GAEOU.  177 

"  I  was  kinder  runnin'  things  over  in  my  mind 
arter  you  was  here  t'other  night,"  said  Uncle 
Lisha,  rolling  a  length  of  shoe  thread  on  his 
aproned  knee  and  then  carefully  splicing  it  to  a 
split  bristle,  "  an'  I  got  tu  thinkin'  'baout  ol'  Bart 
Johnson's  scrape  wi'  the  wolves  up  on  Tater  Hill. 
He  was  a  kinder  half-cracked  ol'  critter  'at  useter 
come  a-wanderiii'  'raoun'  here  abaout  oncte  a 
year  when  I  was  a  young  feller,  an'  useter  stop  tu 
aour  haouse,  off  an'  on,  fer  a  week  or  two  at  a 
time,  an'  poke  'raoun'  on  the  maountain  days, 
a-lookin'  fer  his  treasure,  as  he  called  it.  He  'd 
ben  a  soger  in  the  ol'  French  war,  endurin'  which 
he  went  on  a  expedition  ag'in'  the  Canady  Injins 
under  a  Major  Rodgis,  I  b'lieve  his  name  was. 
Wai,  they  s'prised  the  Injins  an'  destr'yed  the 
village  an'  fetched  away  lots  o'  stuff  'at  they  'd 
got  from  aour  folks,  trinkets  an'  silver  an'  goold 
an'  money  an'  a  silver  idolatry  imidge  'at  weighed 
more  'n  twenty  paounds  —  jest  clean  silver. 
Wai,  off  they  started  back,  a-luggin'  the'  booty, 
wi'  a  fresh  lot  o'  Injins  arter  'em,  so  't  they 
headed  off  toward  the  Connect'cut  River.  Pooty 
soon  they  begun  tu  git  short  o'  provision  an'  they 
divided  up  inter  small  parties,  each  one  shiftin' 
fer  himself,  an'  they  come  tu  terrible  straits, 
grubbin'  fer  rhuts  an'  gnawin'  bark,  an'  most  on 
'em  hove  away  their  plunder  an'  hed  n't  no  thought 
o'  nothin',  on'y  savin'  the'  mis'able  lives,  which 


178  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

was  more  'n  some  on  'em  done.  But  ol'  Bart 
hung  tu  what  he  'd  got,  a  lot  o'  money  an'  I  do' 
know  but  the  silver  i midge,  an'  he  wandered  off 
by  himself  till  he  come  tu  the  top  of  a  high 
maountain,  an'  seen  the  lake  an'  knowed  where 
Crown  P'int  was.  An'  he  come  daown  this  side 
a  piece,  an'  bairied  his  stuff,  an'  arter  a  spell  he 
got  tu  Crown  P'int,  nigher  dead  'an  he  was  alive. 
When  the  war  was  eended  he  begin  tu  look  fer 
his  plunder  an'  he  consaited  Tater  Hill  was  the 
maountain  he  'd  left  it  on,  an'  so  year  arter  year,  as 
long  as  he  lived,  he  'd  come  an'  s'arch  an'  s'arch  fer 
the  stuff  'at  was  goin'  tu  make  a  rich  man  on  him. 
Some  cal'lated  it  wa'n't  but  a  crazy  notion  he  'd 
got  intu  his  head  when  he  was  a-wanderin'  in  the 
woods,  and  some  thought  he  raly  hed  hed  suthin' 
of  vally.  One  day  he  "d  ben  a-s'archin'  way  up 
toward  the  haith  o'  land,  till  eenamost  dark,  an 
'fore  he  goddaown  halfway  tu  a  clearin'  it  was 
darker 'n  a  stack  o'  black  cats  wi'  the'  eyes  put 
aout,  an'  then  the  wolves  begin  a-callin',  an' 
a-screamin'  owooo  here  and  owooo  there,  drawin' 
in  cluster  on  him,  till  he  begin  tu  feel  his  hair 
a-liftin'  on  him,  an'  he  clawed  raound  fer  a  tree  he 
c'd  climb,  an'  he  run  ag'in'  one  he  c'ld  git  his  arms 
araound,  an'  he  scrabbled  an'  buckled  tu  like  a 
good  feller,  till  he  was  clean  aout  o'  breath  an* 
kinder  settled  back  onter  a  big  limb  'at  ketched 
him,  an'  there  he  sot  a-huggin'  the  tree  fer  deaf 


LE  LOUP  GAEOU.  179 

life,  his  toes  a-ticklin'  an'  his  skelp  a  crawlin',  ev'y 
yowl  the  wolves  gin.  An'  so  he  sot  the  hul  en- 
durin'  night,  oncte  in  a  while  jes'  savin'  himself 
fr'm  goin'  tu  sleep  an'  tumblin'  off  an'  breakin' 
his  neck,  till  bombye,  arter  abaout  a  week  he 
thought,  it  come  light,  an'  the  wolves  clearn  aout 
an'  he  started  tu  climb  daown,  but  he  couldn't 
giddaown  no  f urder,  fer  lo  an'  behol' !  he  was 
a-settin'  right  on  the  rhuts  o'  the  tree.  Bart  use- 
ter  tell  on  't  an'  laugh  jest  as  hearty  as  any  on  us. 
Poor  ol'  critter,  he  died  on  the  taown  daown  tu 
Lakefield  an'  his  bairied  riches  never  done  him  no 
good,  'thaout  it  was  in  expectin'  on  'em,  which  is 
abaout  all  the  sati'f action  any  on  us  gits." 

"  I  should  admire  tu  know  if  he  ever  tried  the 
myraculous  paower  of  a  witch  hazel  crotch,"  said 
Solon.  "  I  c'n  find  veins  of  water  with  'em  onf  ali 
ble,  an'  the'  hain't  no  daoubt  'at  they  hev  jest  as 
paowerful  distraction  tow-ards  gold  and  silver,  hid 
artificial,  or  growin'  nat'ral  in  the  baowels  of  the 
airth.  Mebby  he  did  find  it  an'  spoke  afore  he 
got  his  hand  on  't  an'  it  moved.  It  sartinly  will, 
ef  you  speak  a  audible  laoud  word.  The'  is  allers 
a  sperit  a-guardin'  bairied  treasure,  an'  ef  you 
speak  afore  you  lay  your  hand  on  't,  it  gives  the 
sperit  paower  to  move  it,  the'  's  no  tellin'  haow 
fur." 

"  Oh,  shaw,  Solon,"  Uncle  Lisha  snorted, 
"  that 's  jest  an'  ol'  granny  notiern.  Ef  I  struck 


180  DANVIS   FOLKS. 

a  chest  o'  money  I  should  holler,  I  know  I  should, 
an'  I  'd  resk  even  my  hollerin'  a-startin'  on 't. 
I  don't  make  no  gret  'caoimt  o'  sperits  guardin' 
nothin'.  The  nighest  I  ever  knowed  one  come  tu 
doiii'  anythiii'  good  was  — 

"  O,  bah  gosh,"  cried  Antoine,  who  had  just  en 
tered  and  was  prancing  about  in  a  burning  fever 
of  impatience,  "  Ah  '11  ben  hoi'  dat  storeez  'baout 
de  wolfs  so  long  he  mos'  bust  mah  inside  off. 
Ah  '11  gat  for  be  delliv'r  of  it  'fore  Ah  '11  died  or 
fregit." 

"  It 's  aither  a  lie  er  no  'caoimt,  but  let 's  hev 
it  ef  it  '11  save  yer  life,  Ann  Twine." 

Antoine  dropped  to  his  favorite  seat  on  the 
floor  and  began  cutting  a  charge  of  tobacco  with 
frequent  interruptions  of  gesticidations,  now  with 
his  knife,  now  with  his  handful  of  tobacco,. and 
many  emphatic  jerks  of  his  head.  "  Wai,  seh, 
boy,  one  tarn,  mah  fader's  broder-law  — 

"  Must  ha'  come  pooty  nigh  bein'  your  uncle," 
Sam  remarked. 

"  Mah  fader's  broder-law,"  Antoine  repeated. 

"Wai,  I  s'pose  hevin'  brother-in-laws  run  in 
the  fam'ly  then,  as  naow." 

"  Sam,  you  shet  up  you  beesiness.  You  Yan 
kee  tink  it  was  be  awfly  beeg  for  feefty  mans 
keel  one  wolf,  but  Ah  goin'  tol'  you  what  mah 
fader's  broder-law  was  be  do,  one  tarn.  One 
naght,  he  '11  load  off  hees  gaun  wid  four,  prob'ly 


LE  LOUP  GAROU.  181 

tree  ball  an'  han'ful  of  shot-buck  an'  he  '11  took 
twenty-fav'  foot  rope,  an'  he  '11  rrrubby  rrrrubby 
all  wid  hawg  blood,  he  jes'  be  keel,  an'  he  '11 
jomp  on  hees  traine,  hees  cutters,  you  know,  an' 
he  '11  drove  off  on  de  hwood,  wid  mah  fader  for 
drove,  an'  drag  dat  ropes  behin'  de  traine  of  it. 
An'  bambye  de  wolfs  beegin  fer  feel  smell  of  it, 
an'  he  '11  scratter  togedder  an'  foller  dat  traine, 
more  as  twenty,  t'irty  of  it,  an'  den  he  '11  touch 
hoi'  dat  ropes,  one,  two,  tree,  ten,  feefteen,  so 
many,  de  hoss  he  mos'  can'  pull  it.  Wai,  seh, 
den  mah  fader's  broder-law,  he  pant  hees  gaun 
raght  long  dat  ropes,  an'  he  '11  shot,  pooom,  an', 
seh,  haow  many  you  s'pose  he  '11  keel,  ten  of  it, 
an'  fav',  he  '11  go  off  flap,  flap,  guer-a-ouou,  wid 
hees  laig  broke  off  an'  hees  jaw  spile  up  for  bit 
some  more.  Dat  ,was  de  way  in  Canada,  two 
mens  keel  ten  wolfs,  not  feefty  fer  keel  one,  an' 
hoi'  mos'-dead-mans  do  it  den." 

"  Ef  it  wa'n't  fer  spilin'  this  last,"  said  Uncle 
Lisha,  breaking  the  silence  which  followed  this 
recital,  "  I  'd  knock  yer  lyin'  head  off  with  't." 

"One'  Lasha,  dat  head  can'  lied,"  Antoine 
protested,  between  laborious  puffs  of  his  pipe. 
"  Naow,  wait  till  Ah  '11  goin'  tol'  you  baout  de 
loup  garou.  Ah  dat  was  so  bad  ting,  it  mek  me 
scare  for  tink  of  it  ever  sen  Ah  '11  leetly  boy 
an'  de  hoi'  mans  an'  de  hoi'  whomans  tol'  of  it. 
Den  we  '11  seet  an'  squeeze  de  fire,  an'  be  scare 


182  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

fer  look  beliin'  of  us,  fer  see  de  shadder  creep, 
creep  on  de  floor  an'  jomp  on  de  wall,  fer  fred  it 
be  de  loup  garou." 

"  What  specie  of  predarious  animil  is  these  'ere 
loose  garooses,  Antwine  ?  Be  they  anythin'  of 
the  human  nater  of  a  or'nary  wolf  or  a  loosevee, 
or  a  woollyneeg,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Solem,  dey  was  dev'  more  as  anyting," 
said  the  Canadian  in  an  awestricken  voice. 
"  Dev',  dev'.  Some  tarn  dey  was  mans  jes  lak 
anybodee,  an  den  dey  was  be  wolfs,  oh,  more 
wusser  as  wolfs.  Dey  ketch  dead  mans  in  grave 
yards  an'  heat  it,  dey  ketch  live  mans,  an'  heat  it. 
Oh,  dey  was  awfuls.  Ah  b'lieve  dey  ant  gat 
some  more  in  Canada,  naow,  but  in  de  hoi'  tarn 
dey  had  it.  One  tarn,  niah  gran'-graii'nmdder, 
he  '11  gat  so  hoi'  he  '11  mek  off  hees  min's  hee  '11 
die,  an'  mah  gran'fader  he  '11  was  go  fer  pries'  in 
de  naght,  an'  long,  long  way  t'rough  de  hwood, 
an'  he  drivin'  long  on  hees  traine,  can'  hear  no 
nowse  'cep'  de  snow  scroonch,  scroonch  under  de 
runner  an'  de  hoss  feet  of  it.  Wai,  seh,  mah 
gran'pere  was  drovin'  long,  ant  tink  for  much, 
'cep'  for  hurry  fas'.  lie  '11  was  goin'  on  smooze 
road  t'rough  de  hwood  wen  hees  hoss  was  beegin 
fer  go  slow  an'  he  '11  can'  mek  it  go  fas',  all  he  '11 
wheep  it.  De  hoss  jes'  pull  hard  lak  he  '11  draw 
more  as  two  ton  load  an'  sweat  so  he  '11  smoke 
lak  stimboat  an'  melt  de  snow  on  de  road  wid  de 
drop  of  de  sweat. 


LE  LOUP  GAEOIT.  183 

"  Bambye  mah  gran'pere  look  behin'  of  it,  an', 
sell,  he  '11  see  great  beeg,  beeg  black  dawg,  mebby 
wolf,  he  do'  know  if  it  ant  prob'ly,  wid  hees  fore- 
foots  on  de  liin'  en'  of  traine,  an'  he  pull  back 
more  harder  as  de  dev'. 

"  Mah  gran'pere  was  mad,  an'  scare  more  as 
he  '11  was  mad,  an'  he  stroke  dat  ting  wid  hees 
whip,  an'  dat  ting  jomp  raght  on  de  traine  an' 
put  hees  before  feet  on  mah  gran'pere  shoulder  of 
it,  so  heavy,  he  mos'  squeese  him.  Mah  gran' 
pere  feel  of  hees  knife  fer  cut  at  it,  cause  ef  you 
drew  bleed  of  de  loup  garou  he  '11  turn  mans 
raght  off  an'  go  away. 

"  But  he  can'  fin'  hees  knife,  an'  he  '11  ant 
know  what  he  '11  do.  De  hoss  was  scare  an'  run 
lak  hoi'  hurricanes,  'cause  de  loup  garou  gat  hees 
behin'  foots  off  de  graound  an'  can'  pull  back 
some  more. 

"  Mah  gran'pere  feel  dat  hell  ting's  hot  bress 
froze  hees  neck,  an'  hees  hairs  bresh  hees  face  lak 
needle,  an'  he'll  shut  off  hees  heye,  so  he  can' 
see  dat  awfuls  yallar  heye  clost  hees  hown,  an'  he 
give  up  for  tink  he  dead,  jes'  as  de  hoss  run  in  de 
pries'  gate,  an'  he  holler  an'  de  pries'  run  aout 
an'  say  some  word  quick  an'  laoud  an'  de  loup 
garou  be  mans  raght  off  so  quicker  as  you  mek 
some  wink  an'  run  off  in  de  hwood. 

"  My  gran'fader  was  so  scare  it  was  took  more 
as  mos'  half  pant  of  de  pries'  whiskey-en-esprit  to 
brought  it  to." 


184  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  I  snum,"  said  Joseph,  going  to  the  stove 
hearth  to  light  his  pipe,  "  seem  's  'ough  I  'm  most 
willin'  tu  be  skeered  by  one  o'  the  creeturs  a  leetle 
mite." 

Giving  no  heed  to  the  interruption,  Antoine 
went  on  in  the  same  awed  voice :  "  An',  seh,  dey 
was  mans  leeve  neighbor  of  mah  gran'fader,  was 
carry  mark  of  wheep  on  hees  face  of  it,  for  good 
many  day." 

"  Did  it  put  an  end  tu  his  uselessness,  so  tu 
speak  ?  "  asked  Solon. 

"  Which  o'  them  stories  is  treue,  Ann  Twine, 
an'  which  is  a  lie  ?  " 

Antoine's  scared  face  gave  evidence  of  his  im 
plicit  faith  in  the  story  of  the  loup  garou,  but  he 
did  not  hesitate  to  testify  to  the  equal  truth  of 
the  other  tale,  though  it  was  but  just  improvised 
in  his  fertile  brain. 

"  Bose  of  it,  One'  Lasha,  sem  always  Ah  '11 
tol'  you." 

"  Wai,  wal,  mebby  so,  but  wolf  huntin'  is  pooty 
gtrainin'  work,  an'  I  guess  we  'd  all  better  be  a- 
gittin'  tu  bed." 

And  so  desertion  and  darkness  presently  per 
vaded  the  shop,  while  the  guests  went  plodding 
homeward  over  the  snowy  fields. 


CHAPTER  XL 
THE  SHOEMAKER'S  GHOST. 

SOLON  BRIGGS  heaved  a  contented  sigh  when 
he  had  established  himself  in  his  favorite  seat, 
with  his  back  against  the  wall  and  his  left  knee 
nursed  in  his  locked  hands. 

"  What  was  't  you  was  a-goin'  to  tell  t'  other 
night,  Uncle  Lisher,  when  we  was  discoursin' 
consarnin'  speerits  an'  apperagotions  an'  Ant- 
wine  come  a-protrudin'  in  his  Canady  stories  ?  " 

"  Lemme  see,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  stimulating 
his  brain  with  the  point  of  an  awl.  "  Oh,  yes, 
I  Ve  got  a  holt  on  't." 

There  was  an  expectant  lull  in  the  conversa 
tion,  while  Uncle  Lisha  meditatively  splashed  a 
tap  in  the  little  tub  beside  him.  At  last  he  said :  — 

"  I  sca'ce  ever  wet  a  piece  o'  luther  in  that  aire 
tub  'thaout  thinkin'  o'  ol'  Uncle  Ebenezer  Hill, 
Jozeff's  uncle,  'at  it  useter  belong  tu.  He  was  a 
shoemaker,  an'  a  turrible  hones'  man,  as  shoe 
makers  mos'  gen'ally  is,  Ann  Twine." 

"  Sometam  dey  was  be,"  Antoine  laconically 
commented. 

"  Most  allers,  an'  he  wa'n't  no  exception  tu  the 


186  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

rule.  When  he  died  an'  his  things  was  sol'  off 
tu  vandue,  I  bid  off  his  kit  an'  this  'ere  tub 
'mongst  'em,  an'  it  most  allers  makes  me  think  o* 
Uncle  Eben."  He  let  the  tap  soak  while  he 
scraped  out  the  heel  of  his  pipe  with  a  crooked 
awl,  and  filled  it  with  a  fresh  charge  of  tobacco, 
with  a  deliberation  painful  to  his  audience. 

"  Wai,  there  was  a  man  'at  ondertook  to  cheat 
him  arter  he  was  dead.  You  see,  the  way  on  't 
was,  Uncle  Ebenezer  had  got  tu  be  toFable  well 
off  when  he  died,  and  when  his  'state  come  tu  be 
settled,  Bijer  Johns  begun  to  s'arch  raound  tu 
see  'f  he  couldn't  bring  some  claim  ag'in'  Uncl6 
Ebenezer  fer  hides  'at  he  'd  sol'  him. 

"  Wai,  when  the  commissioners  sot,  he  kerried 
it  in  's  prompt  's  a  major,  an'  the  commissioners 
said  they  guessed  they  'd  hafter  'low  it.  When 
he  come  hum,  his  womern  wanted  tu  know  where 
he  'd  ben  an'  what  arter,  an'  he  lied  to  tell  her. 
*  Why,'  s'  she,  4 1  did  n't  s'pose  Eben  owed  you 
nothin'.'  But  he  said  women  didn't  remember 
nothin'  an'  did  n't  allers  know  all  'baout  ev'y- 
thing,  though  they  consaited  they  did  ;  an'  he 
went  off  tu  feed  his  hawg,  arshooin'  the  hens  off'm 
the  swill  berril,  an'  a-dippin'  aout  the  swill  an' 
a-puttin'  on  the  kiver  kinder  keerless,  bein'  'at 
he  wa'n't  altogether  easy  in  his  mind. 

"  Bimeby,  it  come  dinner  time,  an'  he  soddaown 
•n'  eat  his  dinner  'thaout  no  gret  of  a  appetite  t* 


THE  SHOEMAKER'S  GHOST.  18? 

eat,  an'  then  he  went  an'  lay  daown  on  the  settee 
clus  tu  the  open  winder,  but  he  could  n't  git  a 
nap  on  'caount  o'  them  hides  that  wa'n't  never 
raal  ones,  a-risin'  up  continual  afore  his  eyes  when 
they  were  shet  er  open. 

"  Bimeby  he  heard  a  n'ise,  julluk  sloshin'  luther 
in  a  tub,  kerslosh,  kerslosh,  kerslosh,  an'  then 
whack,  whack,  whack,  julluk  hammerin'  a  tap  on 
a  lapstun. 

" '  Hopy  Ann,'  says  he  tu  his  wife,  a-liftin'  up 
his  head  an'  harkin'  julluk  a  hawg  in  a  cornfiel', 
' what 's  that  aire  n'ise ? '  'I  don't  hear  nothing* 
says  she,  a-stoppin'  clatterin'  the  dishes  an'  lis'- 
nin',  '  what  is  't  ?  ' 

" '  It 's  a  shoemaker  tu  work,'  says  he,  '  an* 
there  it  comes  ag'in.'  An'  up  he  got,  scairt  's  a 
strange  cat.  '  Hopy  Ann,'  says  he,  '  hev  you  ever 
hearn  tell  o'  speerits  walkin'  in  broad  daylight  ? ' 

"  '  Bijer,  are  you  clean  aouten  your  head  ?  ' 
says  she. 

" '  No,  I  hain't.  But  if  ever  I  heard  Uncle 
Eben  Hill  a-sozzlin'  a  tap  an'  hammerin'  on  't,  I 
hear  it  naow.'  ' 

"  Haow  can  he  do  dat,  One'  Lasha?  Dat  hoi' 
shoemaket  don't  keep  fer  do  beesiness  w'en  hee  '11 
be  dead,  ant  it  ?  "  interrupted  Antoine. 

"  Wai,"  the  old  man  continued,  "  he  put  on  his 
hat  an'  kwut  an'  off  he  went  up  tu  Uncle  Eben's 
haouse  where  the  commissioners  hed  n't  goddone 


188  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

a-settin',  an'  tol'  'em  'at  he  'd  made  a  mistake, 
which  he  'd  faound  aout  the  'state  did  n't  owe  him 
nothin'  an'  his  'caount  must  be  hove  aout,  which 
the  commissioners  did  heave  aout,  an'  he  went 
home  turribly  relieved  in  his  feelin's. 

"  He  sot  tu  duin'  up  some  o'  his  chores  'fore 
supper,  an'  the  fust  thing  he  done  was  tu  feed  his 
hawg,  an'  as  he  got  nigh  the  swill  berril  he  heard 
that  same  kerslosh,  kerslosh,  whack,  whack,  ag'in, 
on'y  not  so  laoud  as  afore,  an'  all  kinder  muffled, 
as  ef  it  come  aouten  the  airth  onde'neath,  an'  he 
groaned  aout  laoud,  'Ebenezer  Hill,  can't  you 
iemme  'lone  when  I  ben  an'  ondone  what  I  done  ? ' 
An'  he  was  so  scairt  he  could  n't  sca'cely  take  the 
kiver  off'm  the  swill  berril,  an'  jest  as  soon  as  he 
did,  kerslash,  kerslash,  kerwhack,  whack,  come 
the  same  ol'  n'ise  laouder  'n  ever,  an'  right  under 
his  nose.  An'  what  ye  s'pose  it  was?  " 

Uncle  Lisha  swept  a  slow,  inquiring  glance 
around  his  audience.  Only  Antoine  ventured  an 
answer. 

"  All  do'  know  'f  he  ant  prob'Iy  dat  hoi'  shoe- 
maket  come  back  for  get  col'  off  in  de  barril  swill, 
hein?" 

The  old  man  glowered  upon  him  a  moment  be 
tween  his  bushy  eyebrows  and  the  upper  rim  of 
his  spectacles  before  he  said  :  — • 

"  It  wa'n't  nobody  ner  nothin'  but  a  hen  'at 
had  tumbled  int'  the  berril,  an'  th'  not  bein'  swill 


THE  SHOEMAKER'S  GHOST.  189 

ynough  in  't  tu  draound  her,  she  kept  a-sloshin' 
an'  a-floppin'  the  hull  endurin'  time. 

44  Bijer  h'isted  her  aout  an'  hove  her  away  so 
spiteful  'at  he  nigh  abaout  killed  her,  an'  went 
a-mumpin'  raound  feelin'  wus  'n  he  did  when  he 
thought  Uncle  Eben's  ghost  was  a-hauntin'  on 
him. 

"  He  'd  withdrawed  his  'caount  an'  the'  wa'n't 
no  help  for  't  naow.  '  Seben  dollars,'  says  he, 
4  an'  fifty  cents  in  money,  'at  I  might  jest  's  well 
had  's  not,  gone  to  thunder.  I  wisht  that  dumbed 
ol'  hen  had  died  'fore  ever  she  tumbled  int'  that 
swill  berril,  con-sarn  her.'  An'  that 's  haow  thank 
ful  he  was  tu  hev  her  savin'  him  f 'm  committin'  a 
sin." 

"  He  had  certingly  ortu  ha'  ben  thankful  that 
it  was  a  mortal  hen  stid  o'  the  apperagotion  of  a 
defuncted  man  'at  come  tu  save  him  from  com 
mittin'  a  grievious  crime,"  Solon  Briggs  com 
mented  as  he  dropped  his  right  leg  from  across 
the  left  and  with  both  hands  lifted  the  left  to  the 
uppermost  place. 

"  Dat  mek  me  tink  rembler,"  said  Antoine,  who 
had  for  some  tune  been  impatiently  waiting  an 
opportunity  to  speak,  "  'baout  one  man  Canada  — 

"  One  man  Canady,"  cried  Uncle  Lisha.  "  I 
wish 't  the'  hed  n't  never  ben  but  one  man  in  Can 
ady,  an'  he  'd  ha'  stayed  there." 

44  Oh,  One'  Lasha,"  said  Antoine,  in  a  grieved 


190  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

voice,  "  s'pose  dat  was  me,  haow  lonesick  you  '11 
was  be  some  tarn  an'  what  troublesome  Ah  '11  was 
gat  for  ta'  care  all  clat  beeg  country  all  of  inah- 
se'f." 

"  Wai,  wal,  go  ahead  an'  tell  yer  story,  Ann 
Twine,"  said  Uncle  Lisha.  "  It  '11  be  a  lie,  but 
you  '11  have  tu  tell  it." 

"  It  was  'baout  a  man  dat  was  gat  save  hees 
laf  by  one  hoi'  hen.  Yas,  sah,  prob'ly  two  of  it, 
one  for  be  keel,  tudder  for  be  hang  up  for  keel  de 
man.  'F  you  '11  ant  b'lieved  it  Ah  can  tol'  you 
hees  nam,  bose  of  it,  but  'f  you'll  ant  goin' 
b'lieved  it  Ah  '11  ant  goin'  tol'  you." 

"  I  guess  we  c'n  stan'  it.     Go  ahead." 

"  Wal,  seh,  boy,"  -  -  Antoine  rapped  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe  and  laid  it  upon  the  stove,  —  "  dar 
was  one  hoi'  man  Canada  nem  Pierre  Gautier,  Ah 
guess  so,  an'  he  '11  gat  more  as  honderd  nacre  Ian' 
an'  he  pooty  good  up.  An'  he  leeve  all  'lone  wid 
hees  waf .  Wal,  seh,  one  tarn  he  '11  go  on  de  hwood 
market  to  La  Prairie  an'  sol'  up  hees  wheat  an' 
tree,  four,  prob'ly  six  fat  hoi'  peeg,  an'  he'll 
brought  home  lots  o'  money  fer  it,  prob'ly  more 
as  mos'  two  honderd  dollar. 

"  Wal,  seh,  dar  was  fellar,  nem  of  Gabriel  Sa' 
Michel,  was  veree  bad,  do-not  'ing  fellar  was  too  be 
on  de  market  an'  see  hoi'  man  Gautier  gat  all  dat 
money,  an'  he  '11  mek  off  hees  mm'  he  '11  goin'  gat 
dat  heese'f  'f  he'll  had  to  keel  Bon  Homme 
Gautier." 


THE  SHOEMAKER'S  GHOST.  191 

44  Good  airth  an'  seas,  Ann  Twine,  you  jest  said 
his  name  was  Peair,  an'  naow  you  're  a-callin'  on 
him  Burnham." 

"  Oh,  dat  ant  be  hees  nem  of  it,  more  as  One' 
was  you  nem.  Dat  mean  jes'  de  sem  lak  One', 
honly  it  mean  good  man ;  dey  too  polite  f er  call 
it  you,  hein  ?  " 

"  Wai,  wal,  go  on  wi'  yer  Gaushy,  er  yer  Burn- 
ham,  er  yer  Gauby  Clamshell,"  cried  the  old  cob 
bler,  prodding  the  air  with  his  awl  in  Antoine's 
direction. 

"Wal,  seh,  dat  hugly-ant-nt-for-be-decent  Ga 
briel,  he  '11  went  dat  naght  for  robber  Bon  Homme 
Gautier,  stinkin'  long  in  de  darks  jes'  lak  skonk 
goin'  for  robber  some  negg  on  a  hen  rouse." 

"  Sneakin'  long,  you  mean  tu  say,  Ann  Twine ; 
skunks  don't  go  stinkin'  'long  on  sech  business." 

"  Sneakin'  den,  ef  dat  was  please  you  more  bet 
ter,  but  Ah  b'lieve  Ah  '11  was  tol'  dis  storee,  me. 
Wal,  le'  me  see  where  Ah  '11  was  be. 

"  Gabriel  was  goin'  long  caffly  all  stoop  da/own 
close  up  bah  hoi'  Pierre  hees  haouse,  an',  seh,  fus* 
ting  he  know  it  he  walk  almos'  top  of  a  skonk. 
An',  seh,  zhweetz,  dat  leetly  causs  preffume  heem 
raght  on  bose  hees  heye  of  it,  an'  mek  it  so  bline 
he  was  mos'  can'  see  for  swear,  an'  hurt  heem  so 
fer  crazy  heem. 

"  He  '11  can'  tink  fer  robber,  he  '11  can'  see  fer 
robber,  all  he  tink  was  fer  fan'  brook  fer  wash  off 


192  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

hees  heye,  an*  den  go  home.  An'  den  he  gtt 
stiukin',  Ah  bet  you  head,  One'  Lasha." 

"  Proberbly." 

"  An'  he  '11  tink  le  Bon  Dieu  was  sen'  dat  skonk, 
f er  kept  him  from  robber  poor  hoi'  Bon  Homme 
Gautier,  an'  dat  was  de  true.  An'  dat  was  de  way  a 
skonk  keep  one  man  from  be  keel  an'  one  man  from 
be  hang  up."  Antoine  waited  for  applause  in  a 
blank  silence,  wherein  his  audience  waited  for  the 
conclusion  of  his  story. 

"  Why,  Ann  Twine,"  Uncle  Lisha  said  at  last, 
"  ef  that 's  the  hull  on 't,  I  don't  see  's  there  was 
no  hen  hed  nothin'  tu  du  with  't." 

"  Oh,  bah  gosh !  "  cried  Antoine  in  unwonted 
confusion,  clutching  his  head  with  both  hands. 
44  You  '11  mek  me  so  bodder  wid  tol*  me  haow 
Ah  '11  tol'  it,  Ah  '11  gat  two  story  all  twis'  up. 
Ah  b'lieve  Ah  '11  tol'  wrong  story." 

"  I  hain't  no  doubt  you  've  tol'  a  wrong  story, 
Ann  Twine  ;  you  're  allers  a-tellin'  wrong  stories." 

"  Antwine  's  julluk  a  haoun'  pup,"  said  Sam, 
"  'at  goes  off  on  the  fust  scent  he  comes  tu  'at 
crosses  the  track  he  's  on." 

"  Ho,  Sam,"  cried  Antoine,  turning  towards 
him,  "  Ah  '11  glad  for  be  heard  you  spoke.  You  '11 
ant  say  not'ing  but  smoke  all  the  evelin.'  Ah  '11 
be  'fred  you  loss  you  vowse." 

"  I  do'  know  as  that  was  the  way  on  't,"  Joseph 
Hill  said  as  he  came  to  the  stove  to  light  his  pipe 


THE  SHOEMAKER'S  GHOST.  193 

with  a  splinter,  "  but  mebby  the  skunk  eat  the 
hen  'fore  Antwine  could  git  to  't." 

"  An'  Zhozeff  can  spoke,"  cried  Antoine  in 
feigned  surprise,  "  Ah  '11  ant  tink  he  was  mek  off 
hees  min'  so  quick." 

"  Wai,  go  on,  Ann  Twine.  You  promised  us 
a  story  wi'  a  hen  in  't,  and  a  hen  we  Ve  got  tu  hev. 
Naow  patch  up  your  lie  an'  go  ahead." 

"  Ah  tol'  you  'f  you  '11  ant  trouble  me  all  up 
an'  mek  me  fregit  for  rembler  de  story  Ah  '11  was 
beegin,"  said  the  Canadian  when  the  laughter  of 
his  companions  subsided ;  and  as  they  promised  no 
further  interruption,  he  began  :  - 

"  Wai,  seh,  dat  Gabriel  S'  Michel,  he  '11  goin' 
'long  jes'  sem  Ah  '11  say,  honly  he  '11  ant  walk  on 
top  of  skonk.  He  was  very  f  on'  of  cheekin  hesef . 
An'  gret  many  tarn  de  folkes  loss  dey  hen  an' 
lay  it  to  skonk  an'  wezil  an'  chat  sauvage,  w'en 
dey  '11  ant  to  blem. 

"  Dis  tarn  he  feel  inside  of  hesef,  he  was  be 
dreffle  hongry,  an'  he  tink  haow  good  was  tase 
one  of  hoi'  Pierre  fat  chickens,  w'en  he  '11  gat 
finish  hees  job  of  robber  de  money. 

"  He  '11  tink  it  was  bes'  way  for  gat  hees 
chicken  fus,  so  he  be  all  ready  for  go  wen  he  do 
dat  job.  So  he  crep'  in  de  hen  rouse  an'  beegin 
felt  raoun'  in  de  darks,  and  de  firs'  hen  he  touch 
hoi'  of  it  was  de  beeg  hoi'  rouster. 

"  He  be  hurry,  so  he  pull  de  hoi'  rouster  off  de 


194  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

rouse,  an'  'fore  he  can  stop  off  hees  win'  dat  hoi' 
rouster  holler  lak  ev'reeting,  4  keraaw,  keraaw ! 
keraaw,  keraaw-uk,  wen  Gabriel  shut  hees  neck. 

"  De  nowse  wakin'  up  de  hoi'  hwomans  of  her 
sleep  an'  he  '11  punch  hoi'  mans  of  hees  rib  an' 
holler,  '  Woke  up.  Skonk  on  de  hen  rouse.' 
An'  hoi'  mans  jomp  off  de  bed  an'  gat  hees  gaun 
an'  shove  de  winder  an'  look  on  de  darks. 

"  It  was  be  darks,  but  no  so  very  darks,  for  he 
can  see  mans  creep  it  off  de  hen-rouse,  an'  hoi' 
Pierre  he  '11  shot  off  hees  gaun  over  hees  head  of 
it,  an'  Gabriel  so  scare  he  t'row  de  rouster 
an'  run  more  as  t'ree  mile,  prob'ly  two,  'fore 
he  '11  stop  for  gat  hees  breeze,  an'  den  he  give  up 
all  hees  plan  for  robber. 

"  Den  he  very  glad  for  tink  he  '11  ant  do  so 
weeked  an'  evree  year  dat  sem  day,  he  take  de 
pries'  beeg  fat  cheekin,  so  you  see  dat  hoi'  rouster 
he  '11  do  gret  many  good.  He  '11  save  hoi'  Pierre 
from  be  keel,  he  '11  save  Gabriel  from  be  hang  up, 
prob'ly.  An'  he  '11  inek  de  pries'  more  fatter  as 
he  was." 

"  Why,  Ann  Twine,"  cried  Uncle  Lisha,  while 
the  story-teller  looked  from  one  to  another  in  ex 
pectation  of  approval,  "  your  hen  's  turned  aout  tu 
be  a  ruster  arter  all.  Haow  be  you  goin'  tu  fix 
that  up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  One'  Lasha,"  cried  Antoine,  as  a  trium 
phant  grin  swept  the  shadow  of  perplexity  from 


THE  SHOEMAKER'S  GHOST.  195 

his  face,  "  haow  you  s'pose  dat  Gabriel  was  goin' 
tol  what  he  touch  hoi'  of  in  de  darks.  Ah  '11  ant 
to  blem  'f  he  '11  touch  hoi'  of  rouster  wen  he  '11 
meant  for  git  hen,  ant  it  ?  " 

"  Wai,  Ann  Twine,  you  got  aout  on  't  pooty 
well,"  said  the  old  man,  laying  aside  his  tools  and 
the  boot  he  was  at  work  upon,  "  an'  naow  it 's 
gittin'  toward  nine  o'clock,  an'  I  move  we  close  the 
meetin'  afore  the  critter  thinks  up  another  lie  tu 
tell  er  abaout  another  man  in  Canady." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   MORNING   OF   SONG. 

THE  low,  dark,  gray  sky,  that  had  seemed  to 
threaten  a  bodily  smothering  descent  upon  the 
earth,  now  began  to  scatter  down  a  thickening 
shower  of  flakes,  which  the  rising  wind  drove  far 
aslant,  dappling  with  flecks  of  down,  then  pad 
ding  with  white  cushions,  the  windward  sides  of 
trees,  fences,  and  buildings. 

A  great  flock  of  snow  buntings  reveling  hi  the 
storm  swept  along  in  the  driven  slant,  like  an 
accession  of  bulkier  flakes,  and  settled  in  a  long 
drift  among  the  bent  weeds,  as  heedless  of  the 
storm  as  its  own  wind-tossed  flakes. 

The  further  hills  were  quite  hidden  by  the 
nearer  woods,  and  isolated  trees  and  dwellings 
were  vaguely  revealed  through  the  drifting  veil ; 
and  the  snow,  beating  with  a  soft  patter  against 
the  shop  window,  blurred  it  to  deeper  dullness  with 
clinging  flakes  and  the  slow  trickle  of  their 
melting. 

No  one  but  a  shoemaker  could  work,  and  the 
rest  of  the  world  could  only  go  a-visiting.  Uncle 
Lisha  futilely  wiped  the  inside  of  his  dull  pane 


A  MORNING  OF  SONG.  197 

and  stared  forth,  but  there  was  revealed  to  him 
only  the  distorted  image  of  a  woodpecker  clinging 
to  the  leeward  side  of  the  nearest  tree.  Sam 
came  in  to  smoke  a  second  pipe,  as  did  his  father, 
in  violation  of  his  ordinary  custom  of  sitting  with 
women  folks,  whose  unaggressiveness  was  a  pleas 
ing  revelation  after  the  experience  of  his  later 
years. 

But  Uncle  Lisha  was  not  disappointed  in  his 
expectations ;  the  stamping  of  feet  on  the  doorstep 
announced  visitors,  and  Solon,  Joseph,  Pelatiah, 
Antoine,  and  his  father  drifted  in,  in  a  snow-laden 
file,  as  if  they  had  come  down  with  the  storm  and 
were  a  noisier  adjunct  of  it ;  and  each  scattered 
from  him  his  burden  of  snow  in  a  circle  of  melt 
ing  moisture. 

"  Dis  was  ma  fader,  One'  Lasha  Pegg,"  said 
Antoine,  leading  his  desiccated  parent  to  the  shoe 
bench.  "  He  '11  gat  great  many  hoi',  One'  Lasha, 
he  '11  gat  some  hoi'.  Ah  '11  mek  you  intro-duce." 

Uncle  Lisha  stared  almost  savagely  at  the  old 
man,  who  bowed  profusely  and  said :  "  Comme  est 
ca  va,  M'sieu  Pegg  ?  " 

"  Hear  the  ol'  critter  callin'  me  a  shoe  peg," 
Uncle  Lisha  growled  in  an  undertone,  and  roared 
in  a  voice  so  startling  that  the  old  Canadian  re 
coiled  before  it :  — 

"  Commadgy  vaw.  Good  airth  an'  seas.  Ef 
it 's  talkin'  French  yer  arter,  I  ^m  jest  the  man. 


198  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

Polly  voo  Francy.  Sacree.  Mushdaw.  There ! 
He 's  a  sassy  critter,  a-callin'  on  me  a  shoe  peg  in 
iny  own  shop." 

"  Oh,  no-no-no,  bien  no,  One'  Lasha,"  Antoine 
protested.  "  He  '11  ant  call  you  not'ing,  honly 
M'sieu  Pegg ;  dat  was  Mister  Pegg,  dat  was  all." 

"  Oh,  I  wanter  know,"  Uncle  Lisha  ejaculated  in 
some  confusion.  "  Wai,  that  comes  o'  speakin' 
in  unknown  tongues.  I  c'n  talk  French  consid'- 
able,  but  I  can't  onderstan'  it  noways  clear  when 
other  folks  talks  it.  Seddaown  by  the  stove,  Ann 
Twine's  father,  an'  make  yourself  tu  hum." 

The  old  Canadian  stared  at  his  host  in  bewil 
derment  till  Uncle  Lisha  repeated  the  invitation 
in  what  he  considered  more  intelligible  phrase,  and 
with  a  roar  that  he  was  sure  must  make  it  under 
stood  :  — 

"  Sittey  daown,  smokey  you  peep,"  which  being 
accompanied  by  a  wave  of  the  hand  and  a  panto 
mimic  sucking  of  the  thumb,  and  interpreted  by 
Antoine,  induced  the  old  man  to  take  a  seat  be 
hind  the  stove  and  fill  his  black  pipe  with  rank, 
liome-grown  tobacco. 

"  An'  naow  what 's  the  news,"  Uncle  Lisha  de 
manded,  as  he  laid  a  tap  on  the  sole  of  a  boot, 
fastened  it  with  three  pegs  and  trimmed  the  edge 
with  his  knife.  "  The'  must  be  some,  the  hul 
caboodle  on  ye  turnin'  aout  in  sech  a  snowstorm." 

"  Wai,"  said  Solon,  not  to  be  forestalled  but 


A  MORNING  OF  SONG.  199 

with  seemly  hesitation,  "  the'  is  what  you  might 
call  eenamost  discredible  news." 

Uncle  Lisha  held  his  hammer  suspended  while 
he  cast  an  inquiring  glance  at  Solon. 

"  The'  's  a  feller,"  Solon  continued,  "  hes  come 
up  to  the  village  an'  instigated  hisself  as  a  mar- 
chant  in  the  Billins's  saddler  shop,  an'  he  's  jest 
cuttin'  in  on  Clapham  like  all  smutteration,  an'  is 
jest  a-gittin'  his  hul  onmitigated  trade." 

"You  don't  say,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  driving- 
home  a  peg  and  fumbling  abstractly  for  another. 
"  An'  who  is  the  critter?  " 

"  Feller  f 'm  V'gennes,  name  o'  Bascom,  an'  he 's 
jest  a-givin'  away  goods." 

"  Humph.  Won't  git  turrible  rich  at  that,  I 
don't  cal'late.  Jest  a-baitin'  folks.  Wai,  wal, 
tew  stores  tu  the  village,  an'  I  remember  when 
the'  wa'n't  none." 

"  Ah  '11  tol'  you,  One'  Lasha,  it  was  be  jes'  sem 
one  man  Canada,  come  to  St.  Ursule  settin'  up 
store  an'  sol'  so  cheap,  evreebody  crazy  for  bought 
it,  an'  dat  man,  he  '11  borry,  borry  fave,  ten,  feefty, 
honded  dollar  ev'reebody,  den  fust  dey'll  know, 
whoop,  he  '11  bus'  up,  an'  gone  where  someb'dy 
ant  know." 

"  I  d'  know,  but  mebby  he  hain't  sellin'  not  tu 
say  cheaper  'n  Clapham,  for  they  du  say  his 
paounds  is  almighty  light  an'  his  yards  pleggid 
short,  but  I  d'  know,"  remarked  Joseph. 


200  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

"  He  's  a-sellin'  boots  a  half  dollar  cheaper  'n 
what  Clapham  is,"  Pelatiah  ventured  to  offer. 

"  Boots,"  Uncle  Lisha  growled  in  deep-toned 
contempt ;  "  if  he  gin  'em  away  folks  'ould  git 
cheated.  Boots  !  4  Tannin'  begretched  an'  makin* 
bewitched ! '  Le'  's  hear  suthin'  interestin'. 
Someb'dy  tell  a  story  er  sing  a  song.  Ann  Twine, 
can't  yer  father  give  us  a  French  song  ?  " 

"  Dat  was  de  honly  kan  he  '11  gat.  He  '11  ant 
learn  for  sung  Angleesh  lak  Ah  '11  was." 

"  It 's  hopesin  he  won't,"  said  Sam. 

"  Tune  him  up,  Ann  Twine,"  cried  Uncle  Lisha ; 
and  Antoine  with  a  few  words  in  French  per 
suaded  his  father  to  sing  in  a  nasally  sonorous 
voice  and  with  a  feeling  that  was  better  under 
stood  than  the  words  :  - 

"  A  la  claire  fontaine 

M'en  allant  promener, 
J'ai  trouve*  1'eau  si  belle 

'  Que  je  ra'y  suie  baigne'. 
II  y  a  longtemps  que  je  t'aime, 
Jamais  je  ne  t'oublierai."  * 

Then  without  much  persuasion,  the  old  man 
sang  "  Koulant  ma  Boule." 

1  "  Down  to  the  crystal  streamlet 

I  strayed  at  close  of  day, 
Into  its  limpid  waters 

I  plunged  without  delay. 
I  've  loved  tliee  long  and  dearly, 
1 11  love  thee,  sweet,  for  aye." 
—  From  Songs  of  Old  Canada  translated  by  William  McLennan, 


A  MORNING  OF  SONG.  201 

"  Rouli,  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant, 

En  roulant  ma  boule  roulant, 

En  roulant  ma  boule." 

"  I  like  that  aire  abaout  rollin'  the  bull  almighty 
well,"  Uncle  Lisha  commented  when  the  songs 
were  ended,  "  but  that  aire  Jimmy  Jenny  trouble 
you,  I  can't  make  much  on." 

"  Dat  ant  what  it  said,  One'  Lasha.  It  was 
'  Jamais  je  ne  t'oublierai,'  sem  he  '11  said,  '  Ah  '11 
ant  never  goiii'  fregit.'  But  Ah '11  goin'  sing 
you,  so  you  on'stan,"  and  he  struck  up  more  tune 
fully  than  intelligibly,  "The  girl  I  left  behind 
me." 

"  De  bee  growl  an'  weesh  for  save  hees  store, 

De  dove  he  shall  turn  over 
An'  fall  in  de  water,  mek  it  roar, 

If  Ah  '11  fregit  for  love  her. 
If  ev'ree  chance  Ah  '11  gat  dat  way, 

An'  she  ant  gat  for  sign  me, 
Ah  '11  reckon  up  mah  min'  for  stay, 

To  de  gal  Ah  love  behine  me." 

"  Lord  o'  massy,  yes,  if  a  feller  only  knows  the 
song  he  c'n  onderstan'  it  jest  as  easy  as  rollin' 
off  a  lawg.  Now  then,  Solon,  give  us  '  Brave 
Wolf.' " 

The  swelling  drone  of  Huldah's  spinning  wheel 
had  ceased,  and  the  shop  door  was  softly  set  ajar 
that  the  occupants  of  the  kitchen  might  share  the 
musical  treat. 

"  That  aire  French  singin'  is  turrible  satisfying" 


202  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

Aunt  Jerusha  whispered,  as  she  sat  with  her  ear 
bent  to  the  crack  of  the  door  and  a  pinch  of  snuff 
halfway  to  her  nose,  "  considerin'  you  can't  make 
aout  a  word  on  't." 

Then  Solon,  after  much  preparatory  clearing  of 
his  throat,  struck  up  his  doleful  song  hi  a  high- 
pitched  voice. 

"  Cheer  up  your  hearts,  young  men  ; 

Le-at  noth-ing  fright  yeou, 
Be  o-of  a  galliant  mind, 
Le-at  that  delight  yeou." 

When  the  hero  of  Quebec  at  last  "  died  with 
pleasure  "  in  the  arms  of  his  "  Eddy  Konk,"  Jo 
seph  Hill  lifted  up  his  voice  in  commemoration  of 
another  humbler  and  fairer  victim  of  the  great  de 
stroyer  :  — 

"  It  was  all  by  the  banks  of  a  beauchif ul  river, 

As  I  walked  aout  in  the  sweet  month  of  June. 
A  pretty  fair  maid  I  chanced  tu  diskiver, 

As  calmly  she  strayed  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
Nya  —  sing  derry  daown  derry, 
Nya  —  derry  daown  day. " 

"An'  naow  it 's  come  your  turn,  Samwill."  And 
Sam,  after  such  persuasion  as  a  bashful  singer 
needs,  sang  of  his  beloved  woods :  — 

"  In  the  spring,  there  comes  the  fishin' 

'Mongst  the  summer's  posies  gay, 
Comes  bee-huntin',  yit  I  'm  wishin' 

That  the  seasons  won't  delay 
Till  I  hear  my  haoun'  a-hootin'  an'  a-tootin', 
An'  hear  my  gun  a-shootin', 

When  the  fox  goes  streakin'  by. 


A  MOBNING  OF  SONG.  203 

"  Oh,  it 's  bright  in  the  mornin'  airly, 

Of  a  gay  October  day, 
'At  I  delight  mos'  dearly, 

Tu  the  woods  tu  take  my  way ; 
Tu  hear  my  haoun'  a-hootin'  an'  a-tootin', 
An'  hear  my  gun  a-shootin', 

When  the  fox  goes  rus'lin'  by. 

"  Ev'ry  painted  tree  's  a-bringin' 

Back  the  posy  beds  o'  June, 
Ef  I  miss  the  birds  a-singin', 

I  shall  hear  a  sweeter  tune. 
When  I  hear  my  haoun'  a-hootin'  an'  a-tootin', 
An'  hear  my  gun  a-shootin', 

When  the  fox  goes  rus'lin'  by. 

"  When  the  airth  is  kivered  white 

An'  the  trees  is  naked  gray, 
O,  then  *t  is  my  delight 

Tu  the  woods  tu  take  my  way, 
Tu  hear  my  haoun'  a-hootin'  an'  a-tootin', 
An'  hear  my  gun  a-shorfri', 

When  the  fox  goes  streakin'  by." 

Then  Uncle  Lisha  roared  a  song  commemora 
ting  the  gallant  exploits  of 

"  Tew  lofty  ships  that  from  ol'  England  sailed, 

One  was  the  Prince  o'  Luther,  one  was  the  Prince  o'  Lee, 
€rcwsin'  raoun'  on  the  coast  of  Barboree." 

If  he  ran  amuck  among  the  titles  of  English 
princes,  the  bold  Briton,  in  quest  of  pirates,  could 
not  have  shouted  his  orders  louder  than  the  Yan 
kee  cobbler  sang :  — 

" '  Go  aloft,'  cried  aour  Cap'n,  '  go  aloft,'  shaouted  he, 
4  Look  ahead,  look  astarn,  look  a-weather ,  look  a-lee,' 
Crewsin'  raoun'  on  the  coast  o'  Barboree ;  " 


204  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

nor  the  corsairs  have  answered  more  boldly  the 
hail, 

"  'We  aire  no  men  o'  war,  no  privateers,'  says  they, 
'  But  we  aire  some  jolly  pierutts  a-seekin'  arter  prey, 
Crewsin'  raoun'  on  the  coast  o'  Barboree," 

nor  could  the  victorious  British  sea  dogs  have  an 
nounced  with  greater  zest  the  just  retribution  that 
overtook  the  pirates. 

"  For  quatter,  for  quatter,  so  laoudly  they  did  cry, 
But  the  quatter  that  we  give,  we  sunk  'em  in  the  sea, 
Crewsin'  raoun'  on  the  coast  o'  Barboree." 

The  stove  pipe  rang  with  a  responsive  vibra 
tion,  and  the  cracked  window  panes  rattled  an 
accompaniment  to  the  loudest  notes,  while  a  rat 
that  had  set  himself  to  the  task  of  gnawing  through 
the  mopboard,  was  awed  into  a  long  cessation  of 
his  labors. 

"  Lisher  c'n  sing  jes'  as  pooty  's  ever  he  could," 
whispered  Aunt  Jerusha  admiringly. 

"I  swan,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  "Timerthy  has 
sneaked  off  wi'out  singin'.  An'  naow,  Peltier, 
you  come  in  like  what  the  shoemaker  hove  at  his 
wife,  but  you  Ve  got  to  be  heard  from,  jest  the 
same.  Tune  up  suthin'  lively,  naow." 

Pelatiah  lingered  diffidently  on  the  verge  of  song, 
feeling  his  way  here  and  there  with  an  unsatis 
factory  pitch  till  at  last  he  launched  forth  with 
the  recital  of  experiences  somewhat  similar  to  hig 
own :  — 


A  MORNING  OF  SONG.  205 

"  'T  is  of  a  poor  young  man, 

Distraghted  quite  by  love, 
His  storee  I  '11  relate, 

Your  tears  all  f  er  to  move. 

Conven-iunt  a  damsel  lived, 

No  rose  it  could  compare 
A-with  the  damask  of  her  cheek, 

The  color  of  her  hair." 

So  Pelatiah  continued  his  doleful  strain  till  the 
heart-broken  hero  went  to  sea  to  drown  himself 
and  his  sorrow. 

"  That  aire  's  a  turrible  lunsome  kinder  song, 
Peltier,  an'  I  'm  glad  the'  hain't  no  more  on 't. 
Good  airth  an'  seas,  the'  hain't  no  sense  in  a 
feller  givin'  up  that  way." 

"  No,"  said  Sam,  "  he  'd  a  tarnal  sight  better  go 
a/out  an'  kill  a  wolf,  er  a  fox,  er  suthin'." 

"  One'  Lasha,  Ah  '11  wan'  gat  you  medjy  ma 
fader  his  foot  of  it  for  mek  it  some  boot.  He  '11 
gat  hees  botte  sauvage  all  wear  hoff  so  hees  foots 
wet  all  the  tarn." 

"  All  right,  fetch  him  over  here,"  said  Uncle 
Lisha,  picking  up  a  splinter  of  pine  and  splitting 
it  to  the  desired  size.  "  Gittin'  on  him  ready  tu 
go  tu  Colchester  P'int  ?  Wai,  I  'd  keep  him  here 
a  spell  yit.  Folks  never  come  back  f'm  the  P'int 
no  more  'n  they  du  f'm  any  other  hereafter. 
Why,  they  du  say  'at  you  c'n  hear  th'  bones  an' 
skins  a-rattlin'  'fore  you  git  within  a  mile  o'  the 
P'int,  an'  sech  a  pollyvooin' !  " 


206  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  Oh,  One'  Lasha,  what  you  talk  so  ?  French- 
mans  dead  when  he  gat  ready,  some  tarn  'fore,  jes 
sem  somebody.  Wen  le  Bon  Dieu  call  it,  he 
flew  up  an'  le  Bon  Dieu  put  it  in  veree  high 
roos'." 

"Shets  it  in  a  coop,  more  like,  Ann  Twine. 
But  trot  aout  yer  father  over  here.  Pull  off  yer 
boot,  Ann  Twine's  father.  Pulley  hoff  you  butt." 
Uncle  Lislia  was  not  surprised  that  his  meaning 
was  comprehended  by  his  customer,  who  cried, 
"  Oui,  oui,"  very  rapidly,  and  at  once  grappled 
with  his  right  boot  and  presently  disclosed  a  very 
dirty  stocking. 

uNaow  set  your  heel  ag'in'  the  side  o'  the 
haouse.  Settey  up  you  heely.  No  fersten  ?  He 's 
so  ol'  he  's  forgot  his  own  langwidge.' 

With  Antoine's  help,  the  old  man  was  backed 
up  to  the  wall  with  his  heel  against  the  mop-board 
and  Uncle  Lisha  stooped  over  his  foot  with  a 
sharp-pointed  jack-knife  poised  threateningly  above 
his  toes  which  were  instinctively  curved. 

"  Quit  a-wigglin'  yer  dumbd  ol'  toes.  I  hain't 
a-goin'  tu  jab  'em.  No  wiggly  paw  de  toe. 
There,  I  thought  I  could  make  you  ondestan'," 
and  he  succeeded  in  driving  his  knife  in  the  floor 
at  the  end  of  old  Pierre's  big  toe.  He  transferred 
the  measurement  to  the  pine  stick  and  marked  it 
by  a  notch  as  he  did  several  circumferences  ob 
tained  with  a  string,  and  pronounced  the  prelim* 


A  MOENING  OF  SONG.  207 

nary  labor  accomplished,  and  the  old  Canadian 
drew  on  his  boot  with  an  air  of  great  relief. 

The  clatter  of  dinner-getting  was  a  signal 
for  the  departure  of  the  visitors,  who  went  forth 
to  find  the  storm  spent  and  the  landscape 
smothered  to  silence  in  universal  whiteness,  and 
to  make  their  way  homeward  by  unmarked  high- 
ways  and  by-paths. 


CHAPTER 

THE     FIRST     FOX. 

SAM  moving  about  cautiously  in  his  stockings 
was  attempting  the  impossible  feat  of  building  a 
fire  in  the  stove  without  making  a  noise,  for  it  was 
early  and  he  hoped  that  he  might  not  disturb  any 
of  the  family. 

The  wood  tumbled  about  in  the  box  as  if  en 
dowed  with  perverse  life.  The  griddles  would  slip 
and  clatter  and  the  doors  bang  as  if  they  were 
made  for  no  other  purpose.  Uncle  Lisha  being  a 
light  sleeper  was  aroused  and  came  forth  to  learn 
the  cause  of  the  unseasonable  disturbance,  with  his 
waistcoat  in  one  hand  and  buttoning  his  sus 
penders  fumblingly  with  the  other. 

"  What  on  airth  is  the  motter,  Sam-will  ?  Baby 
hain't  got  the  croup  er  nuthin',  has  he  ?  "  he  whis 
pered  anxiously. 

"  No,"  was  answered  in  a  hollow  whisper ; 
"  goin'  huntin'.  Thought  I  'd  hev  me  a  baked  'ta- 
ter  and  cup  o'  tea  tu  start  on,  'f  I  c'd  git  'em 
'thaout  wakin'  the  hull  neighborhood,  but  this 
consarned  stove's  ben  dancin'  a  jig  sence  I  fust 
touched  it  an'  the  wood  turnin'  summersets 


THE  FIRST  FOX.  209 

But  I  've  got  the  'taters  in.  Sorry  I  waked  ye, 
Uncle  Lisher.  Drive,  you  ol'  fool,  quit  yer  whin- 
in'  an'  caperin'.  We  hain't  goin'  yit." 

"  1  'd  slep'  a  plenty,"  and  Uncle  Lisha  drew  a 
chair  to  the  stove  and  toasted  his  feet  comfortably 
on  the  hearth.  "  Where  be  you  goin',  Samwill  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Sam,  carefully  filling  a  powder- 
horn  while  Drive  watched  the  operation  with  in 
tense  interest,  whining  and  treading  the  floor  with 
his  front  feet,  "  I'm  a-goin'  tu  take  Peltier  a  fox 
huntin'.  I  b'lieve  'f  I  c'n  git  him  int 'rested  in  't 
an'  hev  him  kill  a  fox  er  tew,  it  '11  git  him  over 
mopin'  and  honin'  himself  to  death  arter  that  mis- 
ible  gal.  The'  hain't  nothin'  like  huntin'  tu  take 
a  feller's  mind  off'm  trouble." 

"  Wai,"  said  the  old  man  in  a  draughty  whis 
per  that  set  the  candle  flaring,  "Id'  know  but 
what  it  '11  help  some,  but  I  shall  reckon  more  on 
fishin'.  But  I  tell  ye,  I  b'lieve  he  's  kinder  taken 
a  shine  tu  that  aire  Varney  gal,  'at  was  here  tu 
the  apple  cut,  an'  that 's  a-goin'  tu  cure  him." 

"  'T  won't  'mount  tu  shucks.  Peltier  hain't  that 
kind  o'  chap  tu  shift  his  likes  sudden.  I  don't 
b'lieve  he  '11  ever  keer  a  row  o'  pins  for  any  other 
gal.  The  best  'at  can  be  done  for  him  is  tu  git 
him  from  dwellin'  on  his  trouble,  an'  I  don't  know 
o'  nothin'  better  'n  huntin'.  The  quiet  of  the 
woods  an'  the  noises,  which  is  nigh  about  the  same 
thing,  is  mighty  soothin',  an'  the  smell  o'  dead 


210  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

leaves  an'  the  spreuce  an'  balsam  is  stren'thenin* 
tu  the  narves,  an'  when  you  git  raly  woke  up  with 
the  hoot  in'  o'  the  haound  a-drawin*  nigher  an*  you 
hear  the  fox  a-rustlin'  the  dry  leaves  an'  snappin' 
the  dry  twigs,  it  sets  your  heart  afire  an'  burns 
aout  all  the  foolishness  an'  trouble." 

"  Mebby,"  said  the  other,  "  but  fishin'  is  tum 
ble  soothin'.  I'd  ruther  chance  it  on  fishin'  an* 
that  Varney  gal.  She  's  a  strornary  nice  gal." 

Sain  opened  the  oven  door  and  tested  his  cook 
ery  with  a  pinch.  "  My  'taters  is  done.  Set  by 
an'  ha'  some,  Uncle  Lisher  ?  " 

But  the  old  man  chose  to  wait  for  a  more  elabo 
rate  meal,  and  Sam  hastily  swallowing  his  tea, 
potatoes,  and  cold  meat,  and  assuming  his  equip 
ments,  was  ready  to  depart  just  as  Pelatiah  ap 
peared,  and  the  two  held  forth  in  the  growing 
whiteness  of  the  winter  dawn  with  the  old  hound, 
sobering  down  to  the  business  of  his  life,  ranging 
steadily  before  them. 

There  had  been  a  hoar  frost  in  the  night,  and 
every  fence  and  tree  was  turned  to  misty  silver 
and  pearl,  and  the  mountain  arose  before  them 
against  the  paling  azure  like  a  great  cloud  of 
pearl,  unstable,  ethereal,  as  if  the  lightest  breeze 
might  waft  it  away.  There  was  a  haziness  in  the 
atmosphere  giving  it  an  apparent  softness  that 
seemed  to  belong  to  another  season,  and  make  one 
almost  expect  to  hear  the  songs  of  birds  coining 


THE  FIRST  FOX.  211 

from  the  silver  foliage  and  see  the  stir  of  insect 
life  among  the  feathery  herbage  of  the  frost,  grown 
in  a  night  upon  the  snow. 

But  the  few  sounds  that  scarcely  broke  the 
silence  were  all  of  whiter.  The  smothered  chuckle 
of  the  ice-bound  brook,  the  resonant  crack  of  a 
frozen  tree,  the  muffled  crow  of  a  housed  cock,  and 
the  discordant  cries  and  flicker  of  the  gay  plumage 
of  a  jay  early  faring  abroad  were  the  only  signs  of 
life  astir  save  the  hunters  and  their  hounds. 

Old  Drive  soon  found  the  warm  trail  of  a  fox 
that  had  been  mousing  among  the  snow-covered 
aftermath,  and  he  presently  set  the  mountain-side 
and  the  hills  to  bandying  melodious  echoes  that 
awoke  all  the  valley  from  its  slumbers. 

A  dozen  house  dogs  burst  into  vociferous  bay 
ing  at  the  distracting  multitude  of  airy  voices  and 
as  many  cocks  sent  forth  their  ringing  challenges, 
and  one  by  one  the  farmhouse  chimneys  began  to 
lift  their  slanted  pillars  of  smoke  against  the  pearl- 
gray  hills  and  blue  sky. 

There  began  to  be  signs  of  chorhig,  the  creaking 
and  slamming  of  barn  doors,  the  lowing  of  cattle, 
and  men  calling  them  to  partake  of  their  brown 
loaves,  the  stacks.  Then  were  heard  the  mellow 
notes  of  horns  and  conchs,  presently  followed  by 
a  cessation  of  the  sounds  of  labor.  These,  after  a 
time,  began  again,  with  the  clear,  woody  ring  of 
axe  strokes,  the  muffled  thud  of  flails,  the  shouts  of 


212  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

ox-teamsters  and  the  drawling  creak  of  theii 
sleds. 

The  hunters  gave  heed  to  none  of  them.  Only 
to  the  voice  of  the  hound  were  their  ears  attentive 
as  it  tended  toward  the  hills  that  buttressed  the 
mountain-side,  letting  here  an  echo  fall  asleep, 
there  awakening  another  to  wild  mimicry. 

"  Ef  he  hain't  got  him  up,  he  will  in  less  'n  five 
minutes,"  said  Sam  after  a  moment  of  breathless 
listening  to  the  hound's  eager  baying.  "  You  pull 
foot  for  the  saouth  end  o'  Pa'tridge  Hill.  The'  's 
a  big  hemlock  in  the  aidge  of  a  leetle  clearin'. 
Stan'  there.  If  he  gits  past  ye  goin',  he  '11  come 
back  that  way.  Stick  to  't  as  long  as  the  dawg 
stays  on  the  hill.  I  '11  go  to  the  north  end." 

He  struck  off  at  a  swinging  gait,  and  Pelatiah 
in  a  divergent  course  made  his  way  to  the  point 
indicated.  He  reached  it  much  out  of  breath  with 
climbing  and  excitement,  his  heart  beating  such  a 
tumultuous  accompaniment  to  the  notes  of  the 
hound,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  that  he  could 
scarcely  hear  their  music. 

He  cocked  his  gun,  and  strove  to  settle  his 
trembling  nerves  while  he  strained  his  eyes  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  fox,  for  he  could  hear  the 
hound  crashing  through  the  brush  and  whining 
and  panting  as  he  puzzled  over  a  double  of  the 
trail.  Then  his  heart  stood  still  at  a  sudden  flash 
of  ruddy  fur  among  the  brush,,  his  gun  was  at  his 


THE  FIRST  FOX.  213 

shoulder,  his  finger  feeling  the  trigger,  but  with  a 
qualm  of  disgust  he  saw  a  red  squirrel  scampering 
along  a  log. 

The  music  of  the  hound  swept  past,  and  Pelatiah's 
heart  sank  with  the  sense  of  lost  opportunity. 
But  he  remembered  Sam's  assurance  that  the  fox 
would  come  back,  and  took  hope  again.  He 
backed  into  a  comfortable  position  against  the 
hemlock  and  listened  half  dreamily  to  the  pulsing 
diminuendo  of  the  hound's  bugle  notes  and  to  the 
minor  voices  of  the  woods.  A  party  of  inquisitive 
chickadees  sounded  their  cheery  call  close  about 
him,  a  nuthatch  piped  nasally  as  he  crept  in  a 
downward  spiral  along  the  branching  trunk  above. 
A  woodpecker  industriously  tapped  a  dead  tree, 
the  squirrel  dropped  a  slow  shower  of  cone  chips, 
and  a  company  of  jays  attuned  their  voices  to  un 
wonted  softness  as  they  discoursed  together. 

Yet  he  was  continually  aware  of  the  hound's 
mellow  notes  overbearing  all  these  sounds,  though 
faint  and  far  away,  till  suddenly  there  broke  above 
them  all  the  short,  thin  report  of  a  rifle,  and  al 
most  with  the  fading  out  of  the  brief  echo  the 
baying  of  the  hound  ceased. 

"  Wai,"  said  Pelatiah,  letting  his  hopes  down 
to  the  earth  with  a  sigh.  "  The  fox  's  dead,  that 's 
sartain,  but  I  should  n't  ha'  thought  Sam  would 
ha'  cut  hi  ahead  on  me  an'  shot  him.  That  wa'n't 
the  OF  Ore  Bed  !  'T  wa'n't  laoud  enough !  It 's 


214  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

some  skunk  that 's  sneaked  in  an*  stole  aour  fox, 
an'  by  gol,  he  '11  haftu  hump  hisself  ef  I  don't 
ketch  him  er  run  him  in." 

He  pushed  rapidly  forward  in  the  direction 
that  he  heard  the  shot.  His  course  was  length 
wise  of  the  ledge,  with  so  few  obstacles  that  a  half 
hour's  walk  brought  him  to  the  end  of  the  fox's 
track,  marked  with  a  great  blood-stained  wallow 
in  the  snow.  Leading  straight  away  from  it 
toward  the  little  valley  behind  the  hill  went  the 
tracks  of  a  big  pair  of  boots  with  a  disproportion 
ate  stride. 

"  A  short-laiged  critter,"  Pelatiah  remarked,  as 
he  settled  himself  upon  the  trail,  "  an'  I  guess  my 
shanks'  hosses  '11  fetch  him." 

The  trail  presently  led  him  to  a  narrow  clearing 
and  a  little  gray  house  that  stood  hi  forlorn 
nakedness  of  shade-trees  and  outhouses,  close  to 
an  untraveled  highway.  The  big  boot  tracks  held 
straight  across  the  poor  little  garden  with  its  feeble 
array  of  bean  poles  bearing  their  withered  gar 
lands  of  rustling  vines,  passed  the  starved  wood 
pile  and  its  dull  axe,  to  the  neatly  swept  doorstep. 

"  Consarn  his  pictur',"  and  Pelatiah  waxed  hot 
with  wrath  as  the  trail  grew  warmer,  "he's 
sneaked  intu  Widder  Wigginses.  But  he  need  n't 
cal'late  petticuts  '11  save  him.  I  '11  skin  'im  if  the 's 
a  dozen  women  standin'  raound.  The  blasted 
thief." 


THE  FIRST  FOX,  215 

He  stepped  softly  upon  the  plank  doorstep,  and 
was  about  to  enter,  when  he  heard  the  excited 
voice  of  a  boy  and  stopped  to  listen.  He  also 
heard  the  sibilant  rush  of  air  from  the  nipple  of 
a  gun  and  the  soft  pop  of  a  with-drawn  patch  min 
gling  with  disconnected  words  and  knew  that  the 
speaker  was  cleaning  a  rifle. 

"  Oh,  ma,"  cried  a  voice  with  a  grunt  that  indi 
cated  the  pushing  down  of  a  patch,  "  I  tell  ye,  it 
was  fun.  I  popped  him  right  plum  through  the 
head,  an',  sir,  I  dropped  him  right  in  his  tracks. 
An'  hain't  he  a  neat  one !  An'  naow  I  'm  goin'  to 
skin  him  an'  stretch  him  an'  take  him  daown  to 
Clapham's  an'  sell  him  an'  git  you  some  tea  an' 
sugar." 

"  It  '11  be  turrible  good  tu  hev  some  ag'in,  'spe 
cially  when  a  body  is  feelin'  so  peaked,"  said  a 
feeble  voice.  "  An'  haow  did  you  happen  tu  kill 
a  fox,  BiUy  ?  That 's  men's  game." 

u  Oh,  I  was  up  on  the  hill  tryin'  tu  git  a  pa'tridge, 
an'  I  heard  a  haoun'-dawg  a-comin'  an'  I  jes'  stood 
still  as  a  post,  an'  fust  I  knew  it,  I  seen  the  fox 
come  bobbin'  along  an'  I  up  an'  let  him  hev,  an' 
daown  he  flopped,  an',  sir,  I  couldn't  b'lieve  't  was 
treue,  an'  when  I  r'aly  got  a  holt  on 't  I  got 
dizzy  an'  all  of  a  tremble,  an'  the  nex'  thing  I 
thought  on  was  the  tea  an'  sugar  fer  you.  An' 
then  the  haoun'-dawg  come  up  and  chawed  him  a 
spell,  an'  then  I  slung  him  on  my  back  an'  p'inted 
fer  hum." 


216  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

All  the  fire  of  Pelatiah's  wrath  was  quenched 
and  he  was  about  to  retire  as  silently  as  he  had 
come,  when  he  was  arrested  by  the  voice  of  the 
woman  pitched  to  a  tone  of  earnest  reproof. 

"  Oh,  Billy,  you  hed  n't  ever  ortu  done  that. 
You'd  orter  waited  an'  gi'n  the  hunters  the  fox. 
It 's  jest  stealin'.  Father  allus  said  so.  Oh,  Billy, 
they  '11  be  arter  you,  an'  nob'dy  knows  what  they 
won't  du  tu  ye.  Whose  haoun'-dawg  was  it, 
Billy?" 

"  It  was  Sam  Lovel's  ol'  Drive.  It 's  the  fust 
fox  'at  ever  I  shot,"  Billy  whimpered,  "  an'  haow 
be  I  ever  goin'  tu  git  yer  tea  an'  sugar  ?  " 

"  It  don't  make  no  diffunce  ;  you  mus'  take  that 
aire  fox  right  stret  tu  Samwill  Lovel.  You  Ve 
got  tu  take  it  tu  them  it  belongs  tu.  Mebby  the 
Lord  '11  pervide ;  but  I  d'  know,  it 's  long  a-waik 
in'.  Hang  up  the  gun  an'  start  right  stret  off. 
Take  the  fox  an'  start  right  off  like  an'  hones' 
man." 

Pelatiah  broke  in  unceremoniously  upon  poor 
Billy's  mournful  preparations  for  departure,  his 
unannounced  appearance  startling  alike  the  boy  and 
his  sick  mother,  who  stared  at  him  half  frightened, 
half  indignant,  from  her  uncomfortable  support  of 
scant  pillows. 

"  The'  don't  nob'dy  want  no  fox,  Mis'  Wiggins," 
he  burst  out  impetuously.  "  Samwill  an'  me  don't 
want  him,  ner  won't  hev  him,  nuther.  Bub  c'n 


THE  FIRST  FOX.  217 

take  him  right  daown  tu  Clapham's  an'  git  all  he 
can  f er  him.  Dollar  an'  a  half,  I  should  n't  won 
der.  We  won't  have  it,  I  tell  ye.  We  would  n't 
tech  tu  take  the  fust  fox  'at  a  boy  ever  shot. 
We  know  how  he  feels,  me  an'  Samwill." 

Certainly  not  by  experience  did  Pelatiah  know  ; 
but  by  sympathy,  perhaps  he  did,  to-day. 

"  Be  ye  much  sick,  Mis'  Wiggins  ?  Bub  hed 
better  git  Darktor  Stun  tu  come  up.  I  '11  hev 
mother  come  over.  Good-day." 

He  hurried  to  go,  in  as  great  confusion  as  that 
in  which  he  left  the  widow  and  her  son,  who 
found  not  words  but  only  grateful  looks  to  thank 
him. 

He  stopped  at  the  meagre  woodpile  and  plied 
the  dull  axe  with  sturdy  strokes  till  three  or  four 
armfuls  of  wood  were  ready  for  the  stove,  and 
then  hurried  away  up  the  long  eastern  slope  of 
the  hill.  He  laughed  at  himself  as  he  recalled 
his  recent  small  adventure.  "  Poor  leetle  shaver, 
a-floppin'  raoun  in  his  dead  father's  boots  an'  me 
a-bilin'  myself  up  to  lick  someb'dy.  Gol !  " 

Then  through  the  stillness  of  the  woods  the 
mellow  cadence  of  the  old  hound's  bugle  notes 
stole  upon  his  ears,  and.  all  his  thoughts  were 
turned  to  the  day's  purpose.  Listening  to  get 
the  direction,  he  became  assured  that  the  earnest, 
insistent  baying  was  almost  confined  to  a  fixed 
point. 


218  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

"  By  golly,  he 's  started  another,  an'  holed  1dm, 
I  guess.  But  I  '11  hyper  over  and  git  the  dawg." 

As  he  neared  the  place,  the  steep  western  side 
of  the  hill,  he  found  that  the  hound  was  moving  in 
small  circles  and  felt  renewed  hope,  and  his  heart 
gave  a  great  choking  bound  as  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  fox  dodging  among  the  rocks  and  brush  of 
the  steep  hillside.  So  steep  and  slippery  was  the 
footing  that  Pelatiah  was  obliged  to  slip  his  arm 
around  a  sapling  to  hold  his  position,  and  so  stand 
ing,  he  cocked  his  gun  and  waited,  his  heart  ris 
ing  and  sinking  as  Drive's  notes  approached  and 
receded. 

Suddenly,  like  a  ruddy  blossom  that  had  burst 
from  the  wintry  hillside,  the  fox  appeared  on  the 
top  of  the  rock  and  turned  to  look  back  at  the 
dog.  The  sight  was  drawn  against  the  arched 
side,  the  trigger  was  pulled,  there  was  a  kick  of  re 
assuring  force,  a  responsive  roar  and  a  wreathing, 
slowly-lifting  cloud  of  smoke  that  for  one  moment 
of  sickening  doubt  Pelatiah  tried  to  peer  through, 
and  then  he  was  filled  with  unspeakable  joy  at 
sight  of  the  fox  lying  beside  the  rock,  gasping 
spasmodically,  while  his  magnificent  brush  was 
moved  with  tremulous  undulations.  And  then  he 
knew  how  Billy  Wiggins  had  felt.  Not  till  he 
had  laid  hold  of  his  prize  did  he  find  voice  to 
halloo  to  Sam,  but  then  he  did  it  with  such  re 
peated  vociferations  that  there  was  danger  of 
alarming  all  the  valley. 


THE  FIEST  FOX.  219 

Sam  soon  appeared  on  the  scene,  imperturbable 
but  congratulatory. 

"  You  done  almighty  well,  Peltier,  but  where 's 
your  t'  other  fox  ?  I  hearn  a  shot  an'  the  dawg 
come  tu  me." 

"Wai,"  said  Pelatiah,  hesitating  a  little, 
"  Widder  Wigginses  boy  shot  him  an'  I  hed  n't 
the  heart  tu  take  it  away  from  him.  An'  she  's 
sick  an'  they  're  poorer  'n  snakes.  No  tea  nor  no 
nothin'." 

"An'  ye  done  almighty  well,  Peltier,"  Sam 
said,  after  attentive  consideration  of  the  case. 
"  Huldy  an'  me  '11  go  over  there  to-morrer  an' 
see  tu  'em.  An*  naow  le'  's  skin  that  aire  fox, 
By  the  gret  horn  spoon,  he 's  a  buster !  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    DRAWING -BEE. 

IF  the  medicine  administered  by  Sam  for  Pela- 
tiah's  wounded  heart  did  not  cure  that  member, 
it  eased  its  pain  and  was  taken  with  a  relish. 
Every  propitious  hunting  morning  found  him 
afoot  betimes  with  Sam  and  their  trusty  comrade, 
Drive,  breasting  the  snow-drifted  steeps,  ranging 
the  wind-swept  ridges,  and  guarding  the  likeliest 
runways,  while  their  hearts  beat  fast  or  slow  to 
the  swelling  and  dying  cadence  of  the  hound's 
melodious  voice. 

Then  at  nightfall,  when  the  valley  lay  in  blue 
shadows,  with  stars  of  houselights  beginning  to 
twinkle  from  its  depths,  and  the  last  touch  of 
the  departing  sun  painted  the  great  mountain-top 
with  pulsing,  nacreous  tints  against  the  rising 
shadow  of  the  world,  while  beneath  crept  up  the 
devouring  monochrome  of  pearly  gray,  they  fared 
homeward,  often  proud  with  a  burden  of  trophies, 
always  content  with  intangible  ones  or  the  com 
fort  of  deferred  hope. 

Uncle  Lisha  watched  the  treatment  doubtfully. 

"  Huntin'  may  du  it,  but  fishin'   is  soothin'er, 


THE  DRAWING-BEE.  221 

an'  I  cal'late  more  on  't ;  "  and  he  waited  with  im 
patience  for  the  opening  of  the  waters  and  the 
coming  of  his  own  opportunity  to  become  a  med- 
iciner. 

It  seemed  as  if  whiter  would  never  relinquish 
its  sway  even  when  the  allotted  period  of  its  reign 
had  expired.  There  were  lapses,  when  the  air 
came  soft  from  the  south,  and  the  crows  took 
heart  of  grace  to  return  to  the  inhospitable  land, 
and  a  solitary  song  sparrow  to  sing  in  the  garden 
cherry-trees.  Then  the  bitter  winter  wind  came 
howling  down  from  the  north,  and  beat  back  the 
vernal  tide,  driving  the  crows  in  wind-tossed  flight 
to  the  woods,  and  freezing  out  the  sparrow's  song, 
and  making  the  sugar-makers  idle  but  in  anathe 
matizing  the  untoward  season. 

At  last  there  came  a  mild  warmth  into  the  at 
mosphere  and  up  out  of  the  earth,  thawing  the 
snow  from  beneath,  till  tawny  hillocks  and  ridges 
cropped  out.  Warm  showers  poured  down  from 
clouds  that  parted  to  give  glimpses  of  heavenly 
blue  and  drop  squadrons  of  sunshine  to  charge 
across  the  fields,  where  changing  sky  and  steadfast 
mountain  swam  inverted  in  the  pools.  The  brooks 
were  full  to  the  brim  of  their  snowy  banks,  and 
the  rush  of  their  yellow  currents  filled  the  air  with 
a  soft,  changing  murmur,  like  the  song  of  the 
wind  in  pine  woods.  There  was  a  busy  hum  of 
bees  about  the  fresh  sawdust  and  sappy  logs  of 


222  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

the  woodpile,  and  the  idle  buzz  of  flies  warmed  to 
life  on  the  sunny  side  of  buildings.  Out  of  the 
maple  woods  still  drifted  the  pungent  smoke  of 
the  sugar  camp  and  the  fragrance  of  boiling  sap. 

Uncle  Lisha  opened  the  shop  door  to  let  in  the 
pleasant  outer  warmth  and  sounds.  He  heard  the 
sharp,  imperative  note  of  the  first  phebe-bird,  and 
saw  her  swooping  among  the  swarms  of  flies,  and 
as  he  drove  the  pegs  and  trimmed  the  tap,  he 
counted  the  days  till  he  could  go  a-fishing. 

So  the  spring  drew  slowly  but  surely  on.  Fields 
and  highways  became  dry  and  pleasant  to  feet 
that  were  weary  of  snowy  and  icy  paths.  The 
snow  that  endured  but  in  grimy  drifts  was  not 
like  snow,  so  coarse-grained  was  it,  and  besmirched 
with  litter  and  the  debris  of  ploughed  fields. 

The  purple  mist  of  swelling  buds  enfolded  the 
woods  ;  the  yellow  windrows  of  pussy-willows  were 
piled  along  the  brooks,  where  arose  the  crackling 
clatter  of  the  first  frogs,  the  shrill  chime  of  the 
hylas,  and  the  incessant  trill  of  the  toads. 

The  robins  came,  querulously  yelping  at  first, 
then  joyously  celebrating  their  arrival;  and  the 
bluebird  and  his  song  floated  down  from  the  sky 
together.  The  voice  of  the  brooks  had  fallen  to 

O 

a  soberer  cadence,  that  seemed  to  sing  of  fishing, 
and  so,  one  morning,  Uncle  Lisha  resolved  to 
learn  the  condition  of  the  water. 

A  good  excuse  was  offered  by  the  drawing  bee 


THE  DRAWING-BEE.  223 

at  Daniel  Meeker's,  to  reach  which  Stony  Brook 
must  be  crossed.  He  put  away  his  tools  and 
work,  sloughed  off  his  apron,  and  wormed  himself 
into  an  old  coat  that  happened  to  have  a  fish-line 
in  one  of  the  pockets  and  a  worm-bag  in  another. 

"  I  'm  goin'  over  tu  the  drawin',''  he  pro 
claimed  through  a  cranny  in  the  door  to  the  occu 
pants  of  the  kitchen. 

He  hastened  out  to  poke  a  broken  spade 
through  a  convenient  hole  to  the  back  side  of  the 
wood-shed,  whither  he  then  betook  himself.  With 
some  rapid  and  noiseless  delving,  he  unearthed  a 
handful  of  worms,  bestowed  them  in  his  pocket, 
and,  assuring  himself  that  he  had  not  been  ob 
served,  set  forth  with  the  air  of  one  to  whom  a 
drawing  bee  was  an  affair  of  the  greatest  in> 
portance  in  life. 

As  he  went  down  the  slope  to  Stony  Brook  his 
pace  became  slower  and  more  cautious.  In  the 
first  thicket  he  got  out  his  jack-knife,  studying 
saplings  till  he  selected  a  young  hardback,  which 
with  vigorous  slashes,  reinforced  with  grunts,  he 
cut  down  and  trimmed  and  knotted  his  line  upon, 
and  put  a  worm  upon  the  hook. 

Crushing  unheeded  a  pink  and  purple  colony 
of  squirrel-cups,  he  crept  up  under  cover  of  a 
stump  and  dropped  his  hook  into  a  pool  whose 
current,  flecked  with  floating  and  submerged  bub 
bles,  writhed  and  doubled  under  the  downpour  of 
a  little  waterfall. 


224  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

The  twisting  current  had  hardly  caught  the 
worm,  when  the  hardhack  tip  was  drawn  violently 
down,  then  more  violently  up,  and  a  handsome 
trout  was  kicking  and  gasping  on  the  dry  leaves 
and  fresh  blossoms.  The  pool  was  swarming  with 
trout,  and  so  greedy  that  a  score  were  contending  at 
once  for  a  worm  the  angler  dropped  to  them  from 
his  coign  of  vantage,  and  the  sudden  flight  of 
their  brethren  skyward  seemed  to  work  no  abate 
ment  of  their  zest  and  courage,  so  that  in  a  short 
time  he  was  in  possession  of  a  dozen  of  them. 
Then  their  ardor  cooled  a  little,  and,  counting  up 
his  catch,  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  contentment :  — 

"  Wai,  I  guess  that  '11  du  fer  a  man  'at  hain't 
a-fishin',  on'y  goin'  tu  a  drawin'  bee." 

Then  he  strung  the  lusty  fellows  on  a  birch 
twig,  and  held  them  before  him,  turning  them 
slowly,  while  their  shifting  hues  and  the  light  of 
his  happy  countenance  vied  with  each  other. 

"  Sech  impl'yment  orter  cure  any  love-sick 
foolishness,  an'  I  du  b'lieve  it  'ould  du  the  busi 
ness  fer  Peltier." 

He  tethered  his  trout  in  a  secret  nook  of  the 
brook,  took  the  line  off  the  pole  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket  and  resumed  his  way  toward  the  bee,  still 
carrying  the  hardhack  sapling. 

"  It  '11  make  a  good  ox-gad  fer  some  on  'em," 
he  said,  giving  it  a  whistling  flourish  over  the 
backs  of  an  imaginary  pair  of  oxen. 


THE  DRAWING-BEE.  225 

Out  of  a  near  thicket  throbbed  the  muffled  beat 
of  a  partridge's  mating  call,  from  an  elm  the 
blithe  cackle  of  a  high-hole,  and  from  a  meadow 
the  prolonged  whistle  of  a  lark,  —  spring  sounds 
that  gladdened  the  old  man's  heart  to  unison  with 
the  quickened  pulse  of  nature. 

At  last  he  came  to  the  assembly,  where  were 
gathered  a  throng  of  oxen  and  their  drivers. 
These,  in  shirt-sleeves  or  frocks  of  blue  homespun, 
with  long  whips  under  their  arms,  were  gathered 
in  knots  to  gossip  of  town  or  neighborhood  affairs. 
Lisha  was  greeted  by  many  acquaintances,  and 
chaffed  by  some  for  coming  with  a  whip  and  no 
oxen. 

"  Aout-traveled  yer  oxen,  did  n't  ye,  Uncle 
Lisher?"  John  Dart  asked. 

"  No,  I  come  tu  du  the  hollerin'  an'  whipping 
an',  in  a  gin'ral  way,  tu  make  the  bee  respectable. 
An'  there  comes. Joel  Bartlett's  father-in-law,  Un 
cle  Nathan  Matterson,  tu  help  me." 

This  new-comer  was  a  gaunt  old  man,  clad  in 
the  plainest  of  Quaker  attire.  He  always  em 
ployed  the  same  form  of  speech  with  dumb  brutes 
as  with  mankind. 

"  Why  don't  thee  gee  off,  Buck,"  he  was  say 
ing  to  his  off  ox,  in  mild  expostulation,  and  then 
to  his  near  one,  "  Bright,  thee  knows  thee  orter 
gee,  an'  naow  why  don't  thee?  " 

Pelatiah  came,  driving  his  father's  oxen,  but, 


226  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

before  Uncle  Lisha  could  have  speech  with  him, 
the  order  was  given  by  the  carpenter  who  superin 
tended  the  work  to  hitch  on  to  the  barn  which 
was  to  be  moved.  With  an  immense  outlay  of 
shouting,  the  thirty  yokes  of  oxen  were  got  into 
two  lines  and  each  line  attached  to  the  huge 
wooden  runners  that  had  been  placed  under  the 
sills  of  the  barn.  This  stood,  forlorn  now,  with 
the  desolation  of  internal  nakedness,  and  quite  de 
serted  except  for  some  adventurous  urchins  who 
hoped  to  steal  a  perilous  ride,  till  discovered  by 
the  ubiquitous  carpenter  and  unceremoniously 
driven  forth.  The  spectators,  among  whom  were 
Gran'ther  Hill  and  Uncle  Lisha,  sat  on  a  pile  of 
timber,  commending  and  disapproving. 

"The'  hain't  teams  'nough  tu  haul  that  aire 
barn,  easy,"  said  one. 

"  Ef  the  oxen  was  wuth  a  sous  markee,  they  'd 
run  away  with  't,"  growled  Gran'ther  Hill,  "  but 
the  tarnal  critters  hain't  goo'  fer  nothin',  all  pom- 
pered  on  hay  an'  grass.  When  they  use  ter  live 
on  braowse,  they  hed  siners  an'  bones  intu  'em. 
Yis,  sir,  bones,  an'  you  c'ld  see  'em  stickin'  aout. 
You  c'ld  spit  through  'em,  but  they  c'ld  pull 
like  a  livin'  airthquake.  You  'd  orter  seen  us  a 
buildin'  the  bridge  tu  Ti.  Timbers  s'  long  you  'd 
haf  ter  stop  an'  rest  goin'  the  len'th  on  'em.  Three 
yoke  o'  them  oxen  'Id  snarl  'em  right  along. 
An'  when  you  come  tu  eat  'em,  you  hain't  no  idea 


THE  DRAWING-BEE.  227 

what  chawin'  they  'd  stan'.  There  was  suthin' 
tu  'em,  I  tell  ye." 

The  carpenter  made  a  brief  inspection  of  the 
lines  and  shouted,  "  Be  ye  all  ready  ?  " 

There  was  a  handling  of  whips  and  a  spasm  of 
preparation  for  the  work  in  hand. 

"  Wai,  then,  all  together.     Go-'long." 

Then  out  burst  a  mighty,  discordant  shout  and 
slashing  whistle  of  whips  and  the  oxen  settled  into 
their  yokes  with  a  stubborn,  steadfast  pull,  and 
the  gray  barn  groaned  farewell  to  its  ancient  abid 
ing  place  and  began  to  move  away.  It  was 
fairly  started  on  its  journey,  when  old  Nathan 
Mattison  raised  an  imperative  cry  of,  "  Whoa, 
whoa,  whoa ! "  and  every  one  thinking  there  must 
be  serious  trouble,  there  was  a  universal  long 
drawn  "  Whoa,"  that  brought  all  the  tugging 
oxen  and  their  unwieldy  burden  to  a  stand; 
each  driver  craned  his  neck  past  his  fellows  or 
over  the  backs  of  his  oxen,  to  learn  the  cause  of 
the  halt. 

They  saw  the  simple  old  man,  rushing  to  and 
fro  among  the  teams,  slashing  the  ground  with 
his  whip  and  shouting,  "  A  maouse,  a  maouse." 
To  the  storm  of  indignation  that  arose  about  him, 
he  calmly  replied,  "  A  maouse  's  a  turrible  mis- 
cheevyous  leetle  animil !  " 

The  procession  was  started  again,  and,  uninter 
rupted  by  more  mouse-hunting  episodes,  the  barn 


228  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

made  steady  progress  to  its  new  foundations, 
leaving  its  old  place  marked  by  dislodged  corner 
stones,  a  square  of  grassless  ground,  fringed  with 
dead  weeds  whose  generations  had  flourished  and 
withered  there  for  scores  of  years ;  only  these  to 
tell  the  returning  swallows  and  phebes  where  had 
been  their  accustomed  shelter  of  eaves  and  rafters. 

The  oxen  were  unyoked  from  the  lines  and 
given  rations  of  hay  which  they  munched  greedily 
with  a  clanking  of  yokes  and  clashing  of  horns, 
while  they  crowded  and  pushed  for  the  furthest 
and  choicest  mouthfuls. 

Then  Daniel  Meeker  and  his  wife  and  two 
daughters  brought  out  great  pans  of  yellow  gin 
gerbread  and  twisted  doughnuts  and  cheese  and 
a  great  pail  of  cider  with  a  tin  dipper  swimming 
in  it  and  clanking  invitations  against  the  sides. 
Every  one  bore  double  handfuls  of  the  bountiful 
refreshments  to  comfortable  seats  and  regaled 
themselves  while  they  discoursed  out  of  the  full 
ness  of  their  mouths.  A  little  of  such  speech 
Uncle  Lisha  got  with  Pelatiah  as  they  sat  on  the 
unfinished  end  of  the  woodpile,  still  redolent  of 
untamed  woodsy  odors. 

"Ef  you  got  anythin'  tu  du  tu-morrer,  stent 
yourself  an'  du  it  this  arternoon,"  he  whispered 
out  of  a  shower  of  gingerbread  crumbs,  "  fer 
I  want  ye  tu  go  a-fishin'  wi'  me  in  the  mornin'. 
Stuny  Brook 's  thick  's  puddin'  wi'  traouts  a-gap- 
in'  fer  us.  Will  ye  go  ?  " 


THE  DRAWING-BEE.  229 

Pelatiah  elongated  his  neck  thrice  to  assist  the 
downward  passage  of  a  mouthful  of  doughnut  be 
fore  he  could  answer,  "  Yes,"  and  then  they 
planned  their  outing. 

Then  Daniel  Meeker  made  proclamation  :  "  Ef 
any  one  hes  bruck  his  chains,  he  c'n  leave  'em  at 
Dan'l  Ackley's  blacksmith's  shop  an'  I  '11  foot  the 
bill." 

The  company  then  began  to  disperse  amid  a 
clanking  of  yoke  rings  and  the  bawling  of 
teamsters. 

Uncle  Lisha  plodded  his  way  homeward  across 
the  pleasant  fields,  and,  happily  unforestalled  by 
any  thieving  mink,  bore  home  his  string  of  trout 
and  exhibited  them  with  modest  exidtation. 

"Fer  all  this  livin'  worl', "  cried  Aunt  Jeru- 
sha,  contemplating  him  with  a  quiet  smile ;  "  so 
you  sneaked  off  a-fishin',  stiddy  a-goin'  tu  the 
drawin'." 

"  I  done  both,  but  tu-morrer,  I  'm  jest  a-goin' 
a-fishin',  me  an'  Pelatier." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GOING    FISHING. 

AT  an  early  hour  the  two  anglers  were  behind 
the  woodshed,  Pelatiah  turning  the  moist  soil, 
dotted  with  green  tufts  of  young  motherwort  and 
catnip,  while  Uncle  Lisha  stooped  before  him, 
turning  the  clods  with  his  fingers  and  picking  up 
the  lusty  worms  as  they  were  disclosed. 

"  The'  's  sati'faction  in  fisliin'  from  the  fust 
start,"  he  said  as  he  dropped  a  worm  into  the  bat 
tered  teapot  between  his  feet.  "  More  'n  there  is 
in  huntin'.  You  don't  see  nothin'  afore  you  when 
you  're  puttin'  paowder  int'  your  horn  an'  shot 
int'  your  bag.  But  when  you  grab  holt  of  a 
worm's  head  an'  feel  him  a-lettin'  go  of  the  airth, 
slow  an'  relucting  you  c'n  eenamost  feel  a  traout 
snatchin'  at  him.  An'  there  bein'  worms  goes  to 
show  the'  must  be  fish,  bein'  that  they  was  made 
for  one  'nother.  There,  Peltier,  I  b'lieve  we  've 
got  'nough,"  and  he  arose,  straightening  his  spine 
with  the  backs  of  both  grimy  hands  which  he  then 
brushed  on  his  trousers,  and  the  two  set  forth. 

A  dappled  sky,  filtering  soft  streams  of  sun 
shine,  and  a  constant  waft  of  south  wind,  invited 


GOING  FISHING.  231 

them;  the  long  whistle  of  meadow-larks  called 
them,  and  a  high-hole  on  a  dry  stub  drummed  a 
rapid,  ringing  roll  to  accelerate  their  steps. 

Presently  they  came  to  a  thicket  that  bordered 
the  brook,  where  gray  stumps  of  departed  trees 
stood  half  disclosed  among  the  misty  ramage  of  sap 
lings  and  the  dark  pyramids  of  young  evergreens, 
and  where  yellow  beds  of  adder-tongue  mimicked 
sunlight,  while  spears  of  bloodroot  pierced  their 
own  green  shields  and  the  first  moose  flowers 
splashed  the  shadows  with  their  white  blossoms. 

As  they  entered  it  a  partridge  uttered  a  note  of 
alarm  and  went  hurtling  away  out  of  a  flurry  of 
dead  leaves,  and  a  woodchuck  smothered  his  own 
querulous  whistle  as  he  retreated  into  his  newly 
opened  hole. 

Uncle  Lisha,  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  his  knife, 
slowly  searched  for  a  proper  rod. 

"  An'  the'  's  consid'able  enj'yment  gittin'  a 
pole,"  he  continued,  as  if  his  discourse  had  suf 
fered  no  interruption.  "  You  don't  wanter  be  tew 
fast,  er  you'll  be  lierble  tu  run  away  f'm  good 
un3  an'  git  desput  an'  take  up  wi'  a  mean  un,  jest 
as  lots  o'  folks  du  in  this  world,  4  goin'  through 
thj  woods  an'  takin'  up  wi'  a  crooked  stick,'  at 
last.  Then  ag'in,  you  don't  want  tu  be  tew  slow 
an'  pertic'lar  er  you  won't  never  git  tu  fishin'. 
An'  arter  all,  there  will  be  disapp'intments,  Pel 
tier,"  he  went  on,  bending  down  a  sapling  and  slash 


232  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

ing  it  from  the  stump.  "  You  pick  you  aout  one 
'at  looks  all  right,  but  when  you  come  to  trim  it, 
it 's  crookeder  'an  a  snarled  waxed  eend,  erless  it 
's  top-heavy,  er  suthin',  an'  thaf's  the  way  o'  the 
world  ag'in.  But  you  don't  want  tu  give  up  fer 
that,  an'  say  the'  hain't  no  decent  gals,  —  fish- 
poles,  I  mean,  —  an'  say  you  '11  be  dumbed  if  you 
try  tu  go  a-fishin',  fer  the'  's  jest  as  good  fish- 
poles  stan'in'  as  ever  was  cut,  an'  the'  's  lots  o' 
fun  waitin'  fer  you  tu  git  your  sheer." 

"  When  you  've  got  a  holt  o'  the  best-lookin* 
one  the'  is  an'  it  turns  out  tu  be  brittler'n  dry 
popple,  what 's  the  use  o'  tryin'  to  pick  aout  an 
other  ?  "  Pelatiah  asked  as  he  carelessly  trimmed 
a  young  birch. 

"  It  wa'n't  nothin'  but  dry  popple  an'  you  mis 
judged,"  Uncle  Lisha  answered  as  he  neatly 
trimmed  the  branches  and  knots  from  his  pole, 
"an'  you  wanter  try  ag'in,  not  seddaown  an* 
mump." 

He  put  the  finishing  touches  to  his  work, 
snapped  his  knife  shut  against  his  hip  and  began 
to  tie  on  his  line. 

"  I  don'  cal'late  the'  's  as  much  fun  gittin'  ready 
fer  huntin'  as  the'  is  fishin'.  You  buy  your  gun 
er  borry  it  an'  you  do'  know  what  it 's  goin'  t'  du, 
mebby  kick  you  like  all  possess'  an'  kill  nothin'. 
If  it 's  one -you've  hed,  you  know  all  abaout  it,  an* 
hain't  no  expectations  one  way  ner  t'  other.  An1 


GOING  FISHING.  233 

you  don'  make  it  er  fin'  it,  o'ny  feed  it  so  much 
paowder  an'  tow  an'  shot.  I  don'  cal'late  these 
fellers  'at  has  'em  a  j'inted  pole,  wi'  a  leetle  brass 
windlass  on  't,  gits  half  the  enj'yment  we  du. 
They  must  feel  allers  af eer'd  o'  breakin'  on  'em,  er 
suthin',  an'  they  must  feel  almighty  mean  to  be 
a-foolin'  fish  wi'  them  feather  contraptions.  Fishes' 
feelin's  orter  be  considered  some.  We  give  'em  the 
chance  o'  gittin'  suthin'  good.  They  offer  'em  no- 
thin'  more  'n  dry  hus's.  But  le'  's  git  tu  fishin'." 

The  trout  were  as  plenty  and  as  hungry  as  they 
had  been  the  day  before,  and  gave  these  simple 
anglers  all  the  sport  they  desired,  wherein,  if  no 
fine  art  of  the  craft  was  exercised,  much  good 
judgment  and  knowledge  of  the  habits  of  the  shy 
trout  were  displayed. 

Making  their  slow  way  down  the  stream,  they 
crept  stealthily  up  to  every  promising  place,  tak 
ing  here,  a  wary  old  trout  from  his  log-roofed 
stronghold  or  root-netted  hiding  place,  and  there, 
three  or  four  from  beneath  a  circling  raft  of  foam 
bells  that  slowly  wheeled  and  undulated  at  the 
foot  of  a  tiny  waterfall,  reinforced  with  new  bub 
bles  as  others  burst,  and  keeping  ever  the  same. 

They  came  to  an  alder-arched  bit  of  water  that 
looked  promising,  but  there  was  no  chance  to  make 
a  cast.  Uncle  Lisha  hunted  the  bank  for  a  chip, 
which  being  found,  he  coiled  his  line  upon  it  and 
set  it  afloat.  It  went  tossing  and  whirling  down 


234  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

stream  among  the  shadows  and  the  sparkle  of  ra 
pids,  uncoiling  the  line  as  it  went,  till  it  was  all  out 
and  the  baited  hook  was  drawn  overboard,  and 
with  a  wavering  plunge  went  out  of  sight. 

There  was  a  sharp  tug,  responded  to  by  a  too 
vigorous  strike,  and  a  fine  trout  came  flying  out 
of  the  water  with  a  long,  upward  curve  that  hung 
him  on. an  alder  bush  six  feet  above  the  brook. 

Uncle  Lisha  waded  down  stream  to  secure  him, 
beginning  to  discourse  again  as  he  splashed  cau 
tiously  along  the  slippery  bottom. 

"  As  I  was  sayin',  I  cal'late  fishin'  is  better  'n 
huntin'  most  any  way  you  take  it.  You  're  more 
sartain  o'  gittin'  suthin'  as  a  gin'l  thing,  an'  ef 
you  don't  you  don't  feel  no  wuss  ner  nigh  so  tired. 
An'  what  you  git,  you  git,  an'  what  you  waound, 
goes  off  an'  gits  well,  stiddy  a-lingerin'  an'  suff'- 
rin'  an'  dyin'  mis'able.  Then  ag'in "  -  he  was 
reaching  up  for  the  dangling  fish,  rising  on  his 
toes,  —  "  it 's  soothin'er  ;  "  both  feet  slipped,  and 
with  a  great  splash  he  sat  down,  half  damming  the 
current  that  swirled  and  gurgled  about  his  hips. 

"  Yes,"  he  reiterated  stoutly,  as  Pelatiah  helped 
him  to  arise  and  regain  the  bank,  "  it 's  soothin'er, 
but  I  won't  say  I  like  it  quite  so  dumbed  soothin'. 
But  I  don't  keer  a  darn,  I  've  got  the  fish." 

His  clothes  were  wrung  out  and  they  fared  for 
ward,  the  old  man  still  enjoying  the  sport  while 
his  trousers  slowly  dried  in  the  genial  air. 


GOING  FISHING.  235 

The  brook  babbled  its  endless  story  to  them. 
From  distant  meadows  came  the  songs  of  mead 
ow-larks,  the  cackle  of  flickers,  and  the  long  wail 
of  a  plover.  On  the  soft  breath  of  the  south 
wind  were  wafted  past  them  in  wavering  flight 
the  first  butterflies,  purposeless  of  aught  but  mere 
enjoyment. 

"  It 's  soothin'er,"  he  repeated,  "  on  accaount 
o'  huntin'  bein'  excitiner.  You  git  more  time  tu 
set  an'  think  abaout  nothin'  an'  look  araound  an* 
listen  an'  git  tu  feelin'  peaceable,  when  the  luck 
hain't  tew  almighty  bad.  But  that  don't  make  a 
feller  so  grumpy  an'  rantankerous  as  onlucky 
huntin'.  When  I  ben  a-humpiii'  over  ol'  boots 
and  shoes  till  I  do'  know  myself  by  smell  or 
feelin'  f'm  a  side  o'  so'luther,  the'  hain't  nothin' 
'at  fetches  me  tu  myself  ag'in  like  goin'  a-fishin'. 
I'd  livser  git  a  mess  'an  tu  not,  feelin'  better 
carryin'  hum  a  respectible  string  an'  hevin'  more 
pluck  tu  go  ag'in'  female  opposition  nex'  time  the 
fit  takes  me,  but  ef  I  don't  git  enough  tu  raise  a 
smell  in  the  pan,  I  've  hed  me  my  fishin'.  I  've 
seen  the  brook  an'  heard  it  a-talkin'  tu  itself  an' 
mebby  to  me,  I  do'  know,  an'  like  'nough  seen 
some  odd  capers  o'  birds  er  animils  an'  got  the 
kinks  aouten  my  j'ints,  an'  so  don't  caount  I  've 
lost  the  day.  S-s-h-h.  See  that  pleggid  mink." 

He  pointed  out  the  lithe,  alert,  dusky  form 
poised  on  the  verge  of  a  brookside  boulder,  in- 


236  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

tently  scanning  the  eddying .  current  beneath,  and 
the  two  watched  him  make  a  noiseless,  arrowy 
plunge,  and  emerge  with  his  writhing  prey  and 
bear  it  into  the  net-barred  fastnesses  of  the  bank. 

"  An'  he 's  a-hevin'  his  leetle  fishin'  tu,  which  I 
don't  begretch  it  tu  him,  seein'  he  does  it  so  slick 
an'  handy.  An'  naow,  Peltier,  I  guess  we  might 
as  well  call  it  we  've  got  'nough.  We  might  git 
more,  but  we  do'  wanter  be  hawgs.  You  've  got 
a  string  o'  fish  'at  ought  tu  make  a  man  happy 
an'  contented  an'  fergit  lots  o'  trouble,  an'  I 
hope  it  does,  better  'n  all  Hamner's  pizen,  which 
it 's  hopesin'  you  've  forsook.  Naow,  whenever 
you  git  daown-hearted,  go  a-fishin'.  You'd  a 
leetle  druther  hev  it  a  good  day,  but  go  anyway 
if  you  can't  make  the  weather  an'  you  're  feelin's 
tarve." 

So  they  took  their  way  homeward  in  the  gather 
ing  twilight,  with  the  vibrant  purr  of  the  toads 
ringing  all  about  them,  and  now  and  then  a 
startled  bird  scurrying  out  of  the  dead  grass 
before  them. 

"  See  the  pooty  pooties,  bubby,"  said  Uncle 
Lisha,  dangling  his  string  of  fish  before  the  de 
lighted  eyes  and  reaching  hands  of  Sam's  baby. 
"  No,  could  n't  hev  'em  naow,  bubby,  but  when 
he  gits  big  an'  wears  trouses  he  shell  go  'long  wi' 
Uncle  Lisher  an'  ketch  snags  on  'em,  an'  mam 
my  '11  cook  'em  an'  tell  us  tu  go  ag'in." 


CHAPTER   XVL 

A   RAISING-BEE. 

BECAUSE  of  the  greater  interdependence  of  the 
people,  "  bees  "  had  been  much  more  common  in 
the  days  of  Uncle  Lisha's  youth  than  in  these  of 
his  old  age,  but  he  had  not  lost  his  fondness  for 
attending  them.  So  one  May  morning,  when  Sam 
and  his  father  came  into  the  shop  and  told  him  of 
a  "  raisin'  "  at  Jonathan  Young's,  he  needed  no  ur 
ging  to  drop  his  tools  and  toss  aside  a  boot  from 
which  he  had  but  half  ripped  the  worn  sole,  slough 
his  apron,  don  his  coat  and  hat,  and  declare  his 
readiness  to  accompany  them. 

"  I  can't  du  no  gret,  on'y  help  du  the  settin' 
raound,  an'  mebby  hoi'  the  foot  of  a  pos'  er  du  the 
spry  runnin'  raoun',"  he  said  as  he  plied  his  short 
legs  to  keep  up  with  his  long-limbed  comrades, 
carrying  his  hat  in  his  hand  to  fan  his  face  at  every 
swing  of  his  arm. 

There  were  tufts  of  blue  violets  in  the  mixed 
dun  and  green  of  the  meadows,  and,  like  stars  in 
the  evening  sky,  the  first  dandelions  shone  far 
apart  in  the  greening  pastures  which  the  newly 
turned  out  sheep  were  overrunning,  too  eager  for 
the  fresh  grass  to  heed  the  passing  strangers. 


238  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

A  new-come  bobolink  sang  before  and  above 
them,  now  atilt  on  a  fence  stake,  now  aflight  on 
vibrant  wings.  Robins  were  flying  to  and  fro, 
busy  nest  building,  and  a  plover's  wailing  call 
drifted  down  on  the  breeze  from  a  distant  field. 
The  haze  on  the  woods  was  thickening  with 
gray-green  mist  of  opening  buds,  with  here  and 
there  the  yellow  tower  of  a  leafing  poplar  shining 
out  of  it. 

Whatever  subtle  impression  the  changing  season 
may  have  made  on  them,  they  made  no  sign  but  to 
say,  "  It 's  an  airly  spring  and  a  fine  growin' 
time ; "  and  after  a  while  came  to  where  their 
neighbors  were  gathering  about  the  recumbent 
bents  of  Jonathan's  prospective  barn,  and  the 
chips  of  hewing  and  chiseling  that  exhaled  the 
fine  fragrance  of  fresh-cut  wood.  The  carpenter, 
as  redolent  of  the  same  odor  as  if  he  were  born  of 
a  tree,  was  bustling  about  with  a  square  and 
scratch-awl,  while  the  people  lounged  about,  watch 
ing  his  movements  with  curiosity  or  gossiping  of 
neighborhood  or  town  affairs.  Jonathan  Young, 
nervously  expectant,  went  from  group  to  group, 
discoursing  of  the  barn  that  was  to  be. 

"  Goiri'  to  hev  bay  on  the  west  side  o'  the  barn 
floor  an'  a  scaffil  on  the  east,  wi'  a  stable  'minder 
it,  high  'nough  'tween  j'ints  so  's  't  a  man  o'  my 
hayth  won't  knock  his  head  off  in  't ;  "  and  Jona 
than  was  five  feet  four  inches,  in  his  stockings. 


A  RAISING-BEE.  239 

"Hain't  ye  'fraid  o'  bein'  dizzy-headed  when 
you  git  'way  up  on  that  scaffil'  ?  "  John  Dart  in 
quired  anxiously. 

"  Hes  the  pathmaster  warned  ye  aout  tu  work 
on  the  rhud  in  your  deestrick  ?  "  one  inquired  of  a 
distant  neighbor. 

"  No,  ner  won't  tech  tu  till  arter  plantin'." 

"  Wai,  aourn  hes,  the  tarnal  critter,  an'  the 
rhuds  hain't  no  more  settled  'n  my  rhud  tax  is," 
the  first  speaker  remarked,  and  then  directed  his 
remarks  against  the  fathers  of  the  town.  "  Ef  the 
s'lec'men  don't  spunk  up  an'  du  suthin'  abaout  the 
bridge  tu  the  village,  the  taown  '11  hev  a  lawsuit 
on  its  han's  fust  it  knows.  One  o'  the  bupments 
is  all  cove  in,  an'  the  stringers  is  so  rotten,  you 
c'd  spit  through  'em.  'T  ain't  safe  fer  a  dawg  tu 
cross.  Darn  sech  s'lec'men  —  slackmen,  that 's 
what  I  call  'em." 

Uncle  Lisha  found  a  seat,  with  others  exempted 
by  age  from  an  active  part  in  the  labors  of  the 
bee,  on  a  pile  of  rafters  where  they  might  sit  to 
comment  and  criticise  undisturbed  till  toward  the 
end  of  the  raising. 

Their  attention  was  divided  between  the  active 
movements  of  the  carpenter,  a  group  of  the  athletes 
of  the  company  endeavoring  to  get  up  a  wrestling 
match,  and  a  party  of  boys  playing  an  old-fashioned 
game  of  ball. 

"You'd  better  save  yer  stren'th   fer   liftin'," 


240  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

was  Gran'ther  Hill's  hoarsely  whispered  advice  to 
the  wrestlers.  "  Ye  '11  need  all  ye  got,  fer  the' 
hain't  none  tew  many  men.  Them  boys  a-strad- 
dlin'  an'  a-yawpin'  raound  hain't  no  'caount.  It 's 
a  heavy  frame  considerin'  the  way  trees  hes 
dwindled  sen'  I  was  on  airth.  It's  lucky  they 
hev,  fer  ye  could  n't  raise  an  ol'-f ashioned  buildin' 
wi'  the  men  they  've  got  nowerdays.  Ye  'd  better 
keep  yer  wrastlin'  till  arter  raisin'." 

Solon  Briggs  slid  himself  onto  the  rafter  close 
beside  Uncle  Lisha,  and  began  speaking  in  a 
voice  that  could  not  be  overheard.  "  That  nar- 
rowtyve  you  was  relatin'  of  was  turrible  inter- 
estin',  Uncle  Lisher.  Du  you  s'pose  you  could 
designate  the  spot  where  the  ol'  gentleman  dim', 
er  thought  he  clim'  the  tree  ?  " 

The  old  shoemaker  loolced  a  moment  at  Solon, 
and  then  sent  a  roving  glance  along  the  towering 
mountain  wall,  its  lower  steeps  rising  like  a  mist 
of  tender  green  to  the  bristling  firs  that  climbed 
in  dark  array  up  the  rugged  steeps,  to  the  bald, 
gray  peak. 

"  Good  airth  and  seas,  Solon,"  he  said  at  last, 
turning  his  face  again  to  his  interlocutor.  "  Ef 
ye  knowed  within  a  mild,  ye  might  as  well  hunt 
fer  a  needle  in  a  hay  maow.  It  must  ha'  ben  east 
o'  aour  ol'  place.  Ye  know  where  that  is  ?  " 

"  An'  proberbly,"  said  Solon,  "  he  was  persecutin' 
his  s'arch  in  the  same  direction  er  p'int  o'  com- 


A  RAISING-BEE.  241 

"  Wai,  I  s'pose  so,  more  towards  the  top.  Why, 
you  hain't  a-goin'  huntin'  arter  the  money  be  ye, 
Solon?" 

"  Good  land  o'  massy,  no,"  cried  Solon  ner 
vously. 

*'  'Cause  ef  ye  be,  I  've  hearn  him  say  'at  he 
barried  it  by  a  big  yaller  birch,  an'  that 's  consid- 
'able  of  a  guide,  bein'  there  hain't  more  'n  fifty 
yaller  birches  tu  the  acre  up  that  way." 

"  Naow  then,  men,"  the  carpenter  shouted  in  an 
authoritative  voice,  "  come  right  this  way,"  and 
there  was  a  general  movement  toward  the  place 
indicated. 

"  Take  a  holt  o'  this  'ere  bent." 

The  men  swarmed  upon  the  sills  and  sleepers 
and  laid  hold  of  the  section  of  frame. 

"  Be  ye  ready  ?  Then  up  with  it.  All  together. 
Hang  tu  the  foot  o'  them  pos's,  you  men  wi'  the 
crowbars.  Up  she  goes." 

The  parallelogram  of  heavy  timbers  rose  at  first 
almost  with  a  jerk,  then  more  slowly,  as  it  was 
reared  beyond  the  reach  of  some. 

"  Put  in  your  pike-poles  there,"  cried  the  car 
penter,  and  these  being  set  and  manned,  it  started 
upward  again  more  rapidly,  then  more  slowly  as  it 
reached  the  perpendicular.  The  carpenter  was 
off  one  side  squinting  at  it. 

"  Up  with  her,  more  !  Don't  be  afeared.  Put 
in  some  pike-poles  f  other  side.  Up  a  leetle  more. 


242  DsiNVIS    FOLKS. 

A  lee-tie  more.  There,  whoa  up.  All  right. 
She  's  up  an'  daown  as  a  clever  cat's  tail.  Naow, 
stay  lath  it." 

The  bent  was  temporarily  fastened  in  place 
with  boards  nailed  diagonally  upon  it  and  the  sills, 
and  so  in  turn  the  others  were  raised  and  the 
girts  entered  and  pinned.  Then  the  long  plates 
were  uplifted  by  strong  hands  and  pike-poles  and 
shoved  along  the  beams,  to  which  the  surest-footed 
of  the  company  mounted  and  raised  them  to  their 
place  on  top  of  the  posts  and  fastened  them. 

All  the  while  a  running  fire  of  jokes  was  kept 
up,  not  a  few  of  which  were  directed  against  the 
carpenter,  whose  orders  nevertheless  were  impli 
citly  obeyed. 

Now  the  corps  of  exempts  and  invalids  were 
dislodged  from  their  comfortable  post  on  the  pile 
of  rafters.  These  were  sent  aloft,  joined  in  pairs, 
and  raised.  Then  Jonathan  Young,  standing 
apart,  drawn  to  lus  fullest  height  and  with  arms 
akimbo,  and  puffing  out  his  cheeks  with  a  long 
exhalation  of  satisfaction,  looked  with  pride  upon 
the  gaunt,  yellow  skeleton  of  his  barn,  and  pro- 
spectively  clothed  it  with  boards  and  shingles,  and 
filled  it  to  repletion  with  hay  and  grain,  and  heard 
the  swallows  twittering  under  the  eaves,  or  saw 
them  darting  with  unerring  flight  in  and  out  of 
the  gable  swallow-holes,  which  reminded  him  to 
call  the  carpenter. 


A  BAISING-BEK  243 

"  Don't  forgit  to  make  some  swaller-holes  fer 
luck,  Simeon,  an'  cut  'em  in  the  shape  of  a  heart," 
and  he  glanced  back  to  the  house  door,  where  his 
wife  stood  with  her  daughters,  gazing  at  the  gaunt 
structure  that  already  dominated  the  premises, 
quite  overbearing  the  humble  log  house.  They 
wished  it  was  the  frame  of  a  new  house. 

Jonathan's  half -grown  son  came  along  the  path 
newly  worn  from  the  house,  but  henceforth  to  be 
an  established  way,  bearing  a  great  tin  pail  of 
cider,  bending  away  from  his  burden,  with  free 
arm  outstretched,  with  head  bent  low,  staggering 
and  bracing  against  the  weight,  which  he  stopped 
often  to  shift  from  hand  to  hand.  A  tin  cup, 
voyaging  to  and  fro  on  the  foamy  surface,  touched 
the  shores  with  hospitable  clinks,  till  it  was 
swamped  and  went  down  to  the  shining  bottom. 
The  pail  came  first  to  John  Dart,  who  eyed  the 
sunken  cup  for  a  moment,  and  declaring,  "  There 's 
more  'n  one  way  to  skin  a  cat,"  lifted  the  pail 
to  his  lips.  Then  some  one  rescued  the  cup 
with  a  hooked  stick,  and  drafts  were  more  easily 
obtainable  if  less  copious.  The  company,  com 
fortably  and  conveniently  seated  on  the  sills  of 
the  barn,  were  now  served  with  cakes,  pie,  and 
cheese. 

"When  I  was  on  airth  fust,"  said  Gran'ther 
Hill,  dipping  up  a  second  cupful,  "  the'  wa'n't  no 
cider  to  speak  on.  It  was  rum  tu  bees;  New 


244  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

England  rum  er  Jamaiky  sperits  fer  high  duck 
duin's.  Cider  '11  du,  but  it  hain't  so  sartin  as 
rum  an'  it 's  bulkier.  I  don't  cal'late  a  man  c'ld 
du  much  fightin'  wi'  tew  three  quarts  o'  cider 
a-swashin'  raound  inside  on  him.  Rum  was  what 
we  useter  du  it  on.  When  John  Stark  was 
a-raisin'  men  fer  Ben'n't'n  he  was  in  more  of  a 
pucker  fer  rum  'an  he  was  fer  paowder  an'  lead. 
But  he  got  both  an'  the  Hessians  tew,  er  leastways, 
we  did,"  and  he  comforted  himself  with  another 
draught,  pronouncing  it  "good  for  the  time  o' 
year." 

Eunice  Young  felt  flattered  by  the  returning 
empty  pans  and  plates.  She  was  sure  the  supply 
had  been  bountiful,  now  she  knew  its  quality  was 
approved. 

The  boys  rushed  back  to  their  unfinished  game 
of  "two  old  cat."  The  wrestlers,  refreshed  in 
strength  and  spirits,  tussled  in  "  back  holt,"  "  side 
holt,"  and  "  arm's  length,"  in  the  center  of  an  in 
terested  ring  of  spectators.  The  sedate  elders 
kept  their  seats,  smoking  and  boasting  of  their 
youthful  deeds. 

As  the  afternoon  waned  and  the  barn's  new 
shadow  crawled  on  its  first  journey  toward  the 
house,  thoughts  of  the  evening  chores  fell  upon  the 
conviviality  of  the  company,  and  they  began  to  de 
part,  till  there  were  none  left  on  the  late  busy 
scene ;  only  Jonathan,  still  viewing  with  pride  his 


A  RAISING-BEE.  245 

new  possession,  and  the  carpenter  picking  up  his 
scattered  tools  and  planning  work  for  the  morrow. 

As  Solon  and  Antoine  plodded  across  the  fields 
in  company,  the  first  said:  "  Wai,  Antwine, 
I've  got  the  p'ints  o'  compasses  from  Uncle 
Lisher  nigh  'nough  so  's  we  can  make  'em  corrobo 
rate  wi'  the  place  where  that  aire  money 's  hid. 
You  're  useter  the  woods  'an  what  I  be  an'  I  want 
you  tu  du  the  ingineerin'  an'  I  '11  work  the  divinin' 
rod.  I  've  got  me  a  superguberous  one  'at  I  cut 
from  the  north  side  of  a  witch  hazel  bush." 

"  Bah  gosh,"  cried  Antoine,  "  Ah  '11  can  Injin 
near  an'  Injin'  far.  Ah  '11  was  be  prefick  Injin  in 
de  hwood,  me.  We  '11  go  to-morrah  mawnin',  ant 
it?" 

"  Wai,  yes,  I  guess  we  'd  better,  an'  we  '11  git 
an  airly  start  an'  meet  up  back  o'  the  ol'  Peggs 
place.  You  fetch  a  spade  an'  I  '11  bring  a  crow 
bar  an'  a  bite  o'  suthin'  tu  eat." 

"  All  raght,  M'sieu  Brigg." 

"  Bone  swear,  Antwine ; "  and  each  went  his 
separate  way  home. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

TREASURE   SEEKERS. 

THE  morning  after  the  raising,  Solon  and  An- 
toine  appeared  almost  at  the  same  time  near  the 
site  of  the  old  Peggs  homestead  where  Uncle 
Lisha's  father  lived  and  died  and  where  he  him 
self  was  born  and  passed  his  boyhood  —  a  place 
desolate  with  complete  desertion,  telling  yet  its 
mutely  pathetic  story  of  the  years  when  it  was 
stirred  with  busy  life.  It  was  told  by  the  ruined 
chimney  and  broken  hearthstone,  the  crumbling 
wall  of  the  cellar,  now  a  shallow,  shapeless  pit ; 
the  sprawling  lilacs  and  blossoming  fox  lilies, 
long  since  run  wild  away  from  the  sunken  door 
step  ;  told  by  the  leaning  crotched  post  that  once 
upheld  the  creaking  sweep  of  the  well,  to  which 
no  path  led  now;  by  the  untrimmed,  sprouty- 
rooted  cherry-trees,  straggling  along  the  fallen  wall 
that  was  matted  by  gall-bulbed  stalks  of  golden- 
rod,  lopped  upon  it  by  the  winter  snows,  and  by 
the  rank  tansy  bed,  the  dry,  brown  heads  over 
shadowing  the  young  leaves  that  no  more  furnished 
medicine  for  the  sick  or  garniture  for  the  dead. 

The  treasure  seekers  turned  their  backs  on  the 


TREASURE  SEEKERS.  247 

scene  without  giving  it  a  sentimental  thought,  and 
pressing  through  the  second  growth  that  selvaged 
the  forest,  began  to  climb  the  lower  slopes  of  the 
mountain.  The  moss -patched  and  lichen -clad 
trunks  of  the  ancient  forest  now  rose  all  about 
them,  —  great  maples,  beeches,  and  poplars,  with 
here  and  there  a  fir  that  had  straggled  down  from 
its  brethren  of  the  heights,  and  huge,  yellow 
birches  shagged  with  rustling  manes,  from  writhed 
roots  to  lofty  branches. 

Whenever  Solon  drew  near  to  one  of  these  he 
walked  slowly,  holding  his  forked  divining  rod 
with  the  point  upward,  a  prong  in  either  hand, 
with  his  palms  turned  inward,  while  Antoine  car 
ried  the  grosser  tools,  the  spade  and  bar. 

It  was  laborious  traveling  over  the  ankle-deep 
moss  and  the  loose  rocks,  and  climbing  the  prostrate 
trunks  in  all  stages  of  decay,  and  scaling  ledges 
that  barred  their  way. 

At  length  they  reached  a  little  plateau  where 
flourished  a  colony  of  yellow  birches  about  the 
hoary  patriarch  of  their  tribe. 

Solon  studied  the  place  with  increasing  satisfac 
tion.  "  This  looks  as  if  it  might  be  the  very  spot, 
an'  I  'm  goin'  tu  try  it  thorer.  You  've  kep'  the 
line,  hain't  you,  Antwine  ?  " 

"  Jes'  as  straight  as  a  bee  was,  Ah  bet  you 
head." 

Antoine  sat  down  upon  a  log,  dropped  his  tools 


248  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

beside  him  and  filled  his  pipe,  while  his  compan 
ion,  holding  his  divining  rod  before  him  and  curi 
ously  watched  by  the  Canadian,  inarched  with  slow 
and  stately  steps  around  the  great  birch. 

"  I  know  it  '11  work  on  silver,"  he  said,  "  fer  I 
hove  a  quarter  int'  the  grass  in  the  do'yard,  an* 
when  I  come  over  it,  it  most  wrung  the  bark  off." 

Perfect  silence  pervaded  the  forest  about  them  ; 
not  even  the  querulous  cry  of  the  ubiquitous  jay 
or  the  jeer  of  an  impudent  squirrel  was  heard  in 
their  neighborhood,  and  afar  off  above  them  on 
the  mountain  only  the  ceaseless  surging  moan  of 
the  wind-swept  evergreens.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as 
if  the  invisible  spirits  of  the  under  world  might  be 
guarding  here  the  treasure  so  long  since  commit 
ted  to  their  care  by  the  old  Ranger. 

Solon  had  gone  twice  around  the  great  tree, 
each  time  widening  the  circle,  when,  uttering  a 
joyful  exclamation,  he  suddenly  stood  still  and 
stared  like  one  entranced  on  the  earth  before  him, 
to  which  the  tip  of  his  hazel  twig  was  pointing. 

"  Come  here,  Antwine,"  he  cried ;  "  drive  yer 
crowbar  right  in  there.  My  goodness  me !  I 
c'ld  n't  hoi'  it !  It  jest  flopped  ri'  daown  in  spite 
on  me !  I  du  b'lieve  we  Ve  faoun'  the  identicle 
place!" 

Antoine  drove  his  bar  into  the  ground  and  left 
it  standing  by  itself,  while  he  stood  back  rubbing 
his  hands  and  crying  out  joyfully :  — 


TREASURE  SEEKERS.  249 

"  We  '11  mos'  gat  it.  Ah,  Solem !  Fus'  Ah  '11 
bought  it  hoss  an'  woggin  an'  t'ree  dog,  an'  watch, 
an'  git  caplock  on  mah  gaun,  an'  bought  it  hoi' 
hwoman  caleckko  red  dress  an'  kish  lip,1  Ah  do* 
know  'f  he  be  yaller  or  red.  An'  pork  t'ree  time 
a  day  an'  more  onion  All  '11  min'  to,  an'  mud  tur 
key,  an'  Ah  '11  goin'  Canada  vis'tin'  an'  Montreal. 
An'  Ah  '11  goin'  built  it  white  haouse  wid  green 
blindin',  an'  bought  it  two  honderd  nacre  Ian'  an' 
set  in  de  settin'  room  an'  see  de  mens  work,  an' 
smoke  all  de  tarn  w'en  Ah  '11  ant  heat." 

"  I  hain't  ezackly  settled  in  my  mind  haow  I 
shall  investigate  my  funds,"  Solon  declared  when 
he  had  an  opportunity  to  speak,  "  but  le'  's  duff 
in  a-diggin'  an'  see  what  we  got.  But  you  wanter 
remember  one  thing,  Ant  wine,"  he  said  very  im 
pressively,  "if  ever  we  du  strike  the  money  you 
must  n't  speak  a  audible,  laoud  word  afore  we  git 
a  holt  on  't  er  it  '11  slide  intu  the  baowels  o'  the 
airth." 

"  Oh,  no,  no-no-no.  Ah  '11  won't  spoke  no 
more  as  snaikes,"  wherewith  they  fell  to  digging 
with  great  enthusiasm. 

The  ground  was  composed  of  loose  rock  more 
than  soil,  and  the  digging  was  slow  and  laborious, 
but  the  crowbar  and  spade  clinked  merrily,  awak 
ing  echoes  that  had  never  before  found  voice  in 
that  green  solitude,  and  at  last  attracted  a  party 

1  Kid  slippers. 


250  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

of  jays  that  for  a  while  kept  up  a  discordant  and 
annoying  outcry  above  the  delvers  and  then  flew 
screaming  away,  as  if  to  proclaim  to  all  the  forest 
that  strange  work  was  going  on  within  it. 

They  had  sunk  a  little  pit  somewhat  deeper 
than  their  knees,  when  Antoine,  driving  his  bar 
deep  into  a  crevice,  struck  something  which  gave 
forth  a  sharp,  metallic  sound. 

Solon  shook  his  open  hand  at  Antoine  to  beat 
back  the  exclamation  that  the  suddenly  parted  lips 
foretold,  but  too  late. 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  we  '11  gat  it !  "  he  cried,  and 
the  words  were  followed  by  a  smothered  clink 
and  nimble. 

"  There,"  Solon  groaned,  sinking  back  on  the 
edge  of  the  pit  and  casting  his  spade  from  him  as 
a  thing  of  no  further  use.  "  Naow  you  Ve  done 
it!  It's  moved,  an'  jest  on  accaount  o'  your 
darned,  useless,  onsensible  Canuck  gabble.  Darn 
ye  tu  altermuttable  darnation !  " 

Antoine  looked  dismayed,  then  defiant. 

"  Bah  gosh,  all  feesh  hooks !  You  s'pose  mans 
goin'  shut  off  hees  head  so  long  he  '11  fregit  de 
nowse  of  hees  vowse  ?  Bah  gosh,  no,  Ah  guess 
not  me,  not  for  feefty,  fave  honded,  fave  tousan' 
doUar !  " 

"  No,  you  'd  rather  gab,  gab,  gab,  'an  tu  hev 
the  hull  world,  you  infarnal,  etarnal,  intarnal,  ex- 
tarn  al  fool !  ''  Solon  groaned  and  howled  in  de- 


TREASURE  SEEKERS.  251 

spair  and  wrath.  "  An'  we  most  the  same  as  hed 
it.  Oh,  by  thunder  !  I  'm  as  good  a  minter  lick 
ye  as  ever  I  had  t'  eat !  " 

He  made  a  half -threatening  movement,  and  An. 
toine  scrambled  out  of  the  hole  and  got  behind  a 
tree,  where  he  looked  forth  with  craned  neck,  as 
if  expecting  the  explosion  of  a  blast. 

"  'F  Ah  '11  gat  mad,  Solem !  you  '11  ant  leek  me 
pretty  heasy,  an'  Ah  '11  gat  mad  pooty  quick  'f 
Ah  '11  tried.  Den  you  '11  wan'  ta'  careful,  fer  Ah 
'11  was  danger  mans,  me.  Br-o-o-o-o-o !  " 

He  uttered  a  terrible  growl  and  pranced  a  little 
way  from  his  cover,  but  was  disappointed  that 
this  demonstration  made  no  impression  on  Solon. 

"  Ah  tol'  you,  Solem,"  he  said  in  a  more  peace 
ful  tone,  "  'f  you  can  fetch  back  dat  moneys  fer 
givin'  me  leekin',  Ah  '11  willin'.  But  dat  ain't  gat 
no  difference.  You  leek  me,  it  gone  jes'  the  sem. 
De  bes'  way  was  fer  come  aout  an'  heat  aour 
deeny  ?  Come." 

"  I  guess  that  's  a  sensible  idee,"  Solon  con 
ceded,  climbing  out  of  the  hole  and  picking  up  his 
coat,  from  the  pocket  of  which  he  drew  forth  a 
packet  of  luncheon  and  tossed  Antoine's  coat  to 
him.  Then  they  sat  down  upon  a  mossy  log  and 
began  an  amicable  repast,  Solon  supplementing 
his  companion's  coarse  and  meagre  fare  with  por 
tions  of  his  own  bountiful  supply. 

"  Ah  an't  see  mah  hoss  an'  dawg  an'  watch  an' 


252  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

white  haouse  an'  Canada  half  so  plain  Ah  was 
while  ago,"  said  Antoine  ruefully. 

"  I  tell  ye  what,  An  twine,"  Solon  said  between 
mouthfuls,  waving  his  jack-knife  towards  the 
scene  of  their  labors,  "  when  we  git  aour  victuals 
eat,  I  'm  goin'  tu  try  the  rod  ag'in.  It  looks 
philosophicable  tu  me  'at  ef  you  can  find  it  once 
you  can  ag'in,  an'  ef  we  du,  you  keep  your  hed 
shet." 

"Ah '11  will,  seh,  Solem.  What  Ah'U  goin' 
spoke,  Ah '11  mek  notion.  Sh-s-s-h,"  suddenly 
sinking  his  voice  to  a  whisper  and  pointing  to  a 
little  black  animal  moving  awkwardly  and  aim 
lessly  about  the  border  of  a  yew  thicket  near 
them,  "  See  dat  black  woodchuck.  See  me  struck 
it  wid  a  stone." 

Stooping  cautiously,  he  picked  up  a  fragment 
of  a  rock  and  threw  it  with  such  true  aim  that  it 
struck  the  animal  full  in  the  side,  evoking  a 
sharp,  snarling  cry  of  pain  and  anger.  Almost  at 
the  same  moment  there  was  a  crashing  rush  in  the 
tangle  of  brush  above,  as  Antoine  breathlessly 
asked :  "  What  mek  dat  nowse  ? "  and  a  great 
she-bear  came  lunging  out  of  the  thicket  with  a 
fierce  and  startling  "  woof,  woof." 

As  if  simultaneously  impelled  by  the  impetus 
of  her  charge,  both  men  sprang  to  their  feet  and 
went  tearing  down  the  ragged  mountain-side  at  a 
breakneck  pace,  wondering  at  their  own  sureness 


TREASURE  SEEKERS.  253 

of  foot,  and  silently  praying  it  might  be  further 
vouchsafed  them,  as  they  plunged  from  rock  to 
rock,  snatching  at  trees  and  saplings,  and  leap 
ing  over  prostrate  trunks  that  they  had  slowly 
climbed  over  in  their  ascent. 

Never  did  men  maintain  a  better  pace  over  such 
a  course,  and  it  was  kept  up  till  they  emerged, 
blown,  torn  and  trembling,  into  the  clearing,  and 
sank  down  on  the  first  cradle-knoll.  Coats  and 
tools  were  left  far  behind,  nor  even  remembered 
till  now  they  were  half  rested.  Antoine  arose, 
straightening  his  stiffening  legs,  and  after  listen 
ing  a  moment  shook  his  fist  at  the  mountain. 

"  Damn  dat  bears.  'F  he  '11  come  aout  here 
Ah  '11  leek  it,  me." 

"  I  p'sume  tu  say  'f  you  want  her  very  bad 
you  '11  find  her  up  back  there.  I  don't." 

Then  they  made  their  way  homeward,  chop- 
fallen,  yet  in  a  measure  thankful.  A  few  days 
later  they  made  an  expedition  for  the  recovery  of 
their  things,  whose  disappearance  was  causing 
domestic  comment,  and  Solon  tried  the  magic 
power  of  his  rod,  but  it  made  no  sign. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MISFITS. 

"  IT  's  tumble  resky  a-gittin'  one  thing  'at 's  a 
leetle  cuter  'n  the  rest  o'  yer  belongin's,"  Uncle 
Lisha  remarked  as  he  split  some  pegs  off  a  block 
with  his  jack-knife.  "  Oncte  I  got  me  a  new  awl 
'at  put  me  clean  aout  'n  consait  o'  my  ol'  kit,  an' 
cost  me  more  'n  a  month's  airnin's  a-buyin'  new 
tools  'at  I  didn't  need,  an'  some  on  'em  jest 
useless  consarns. 

"  I  've  knowed  a  feller  tu  git  a  patch  sot  on 
a  boot  'at  looked  so  much  better  'n  the  rest  on  't 
'at  he  hed  tu  git  a  new  pair  an'  then  a  suit  o'  clo's 
tu  match,  an'  then  his  womern  must  up  an'  hev  a 
new  caliker  gaownd.  But  the  beatinest  was  Ros'l 
Drake's  door,  a  bran  new  front  door  'at  he  bid 
off  tu  Amos  Wilkinses  vandue.  Do'  know  haow 
Amos  come  tu  hev  it,  but  he  hed  it,  an'  Ros'l  he 
bid  it  off,  an'  took  it  hum  an'  sot  it  in  the  barn, 
and  at  fust  his  womern  sputtered  'baout  his  buyin' 
of  it,  an'  they  hed  a  notion  o'  puttin'  on  't  in  the 
place  o'  their  ol'  front  door,  but  it  would  n't  fit, 
an'  they  cal'lated  ef  it  did  it  'ould  make  the  hul 
haouse  look  humblier  'n  ever.  But  it  would  n't 


MISFITS.      '  255 

du  to  waste  that  aire  door,  'at  was  paneled  an'  hed 
a  big  brass  knocker,  an'  so  what  d'  they  du  finally 
but  turn  tu  an'  build  them  a  new  haouse  tu  fit 
that  aire  door,  which  the  ol'  one  was  plenty  good 
'nough. 

"  Wai,"  he  continued,  after  brushing  the  split 
pegs  from  the  edge  of  the  bench  into  his  hand, 
"  they  hed  tu  mortgage  the'  place,  an'  finally  lost 
it,  ol'  haouse,  new  haouse,  front  door  an'  all,  an' 
went  off  over  intu  Adams's  Gore  tu  live  in  a  lawg 
haouse,  an'  glad  'nough  tu  git  sech  shelter. 

"  Over  in  the  Gore,  the  rusters  don't  begin  tu 
crow  'fore  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  an'  the  hens 
go  tu  rust  right  arter  dinner,  an'  you  c'n  allers 
tell  Gore  folks  when  they  come  daown  here  in  dog- 
days,  by  the'  stompin'  the'  feet  tu  git  the  snow  off 
on  'em.  That 's  where  the  door  landed  them." 

"  Dat  mek  me  rembler  one  man  Canada,"  said 
Antoine. 

"  Consarn  ye,  Ann  Twine,  what  in  tunket  's  the 
reason  ye  don't  never  tell  your  stories  fust  ?  " 

"  Ah  '11  save  de  pie  an'  kek  for  de  en'  of  de 
dinny,"  said  Antoine  with  a  bland  smile. 

"  Pies  an'  lies  they  be  mostly,"  Uncle  Lisha 
growled ;  and  Antoine  began  :  — 

"  Dar  was  one  man  Canada  gone  off  fer  work 
one  mornin'  hairly,  an'  he  '11  see  it  one  leetly 
waum  walkin'  aout  on  de  road  fer  smell  de  mornin' 
hair. 


256  bANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  Wen  dat  mans  see  he  '11  say,  Ah  '11  goin'  fee- 
shins,  me.  An'  he  '11  peek  it  up  an'  go  raght  off 
an'  get  hees  hook  in  line  an'  go  on  de  river  an* 
t'row  hees  hook,  an'  it  ant  more  as  two  minute 
'fore  peeckerel  was  took  it,  oh,  great  beeg  one. 
An'  de  log  was  slippy  de  man  was  stan'  on,  an'  he 
was  pull  on  de  water  an'  all  draown  dead. 

"  So  you  see,  seh,  boy,  jes'  for  leetly  waum  dat 
mans  was  loss  hees  day  work,  an'  dat  beeg  peeck 
erel  —  dat  was  too  bad  —  an'  more  as  half  hees 
laf-tam,  for  he  '11  was  be  young  man  an'  was  goin' 
be  marre  nex'  week,  so  he  loss  hees  waf  too,  an' 
all  de  funs  of  de  weddin'.  Ant  dat  good  many 
for  one  leetly  waum,  hein  ?  " 

Pelatiah  sighed  wearily  as  he  thought  of  the 
crueller  fate  that  had  cheated  him  of  his  wedding 
day. 

"  But  ef  yer  story  was  true,  Ann  Twine,"  said 
the  shoemaker,  driving  a  peg  home  with  each  blow 
of  his  hammer,  —  "  which  it  ain't  anyways  likely 
it  is,  bein'  you  tol'  it,  —  it  don't  argy  ag'in'  a 
feller's  goin'  a-fishin'  when  he  'd  ort  tu,  an'  I 
b'lieve  I  'd  ort  tu  the  fust  good  day  'at  comes,  an' 
I  want  you  tu  go  along  tew,  Peltier." 

As  his  abstracted  gaze  habitually  sought  the 
dusty  window,  the  blurred  panes  did  not  shut  out 
from  him  a  vision  of  clear  streams  braiding  the 
sunlight  into  the  shadows  of  copses  and  green 
brookside  banks,  inviting  the  weary  heart  and 


MISFITS.  257 

hand  to  rest  and  quiet  recreation.  He  felt  an  al 
most  painful  heart  twinge  that  reminded  him  of 
long  bygone  boyish  anticipation. 

"  It  can't  quite  tech  the  ol'  spot,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  "but  thinkin'  o'  fishin'  an'  goin' 
a-fishin'  comes  nigher  fetehin'  on  't  'an  most  any- 
thin'."  Then  speaking  aloud :  — 

"  It 's  a-hopesin'  ?at  I  won't  never  git  so  I  can't 
go  a-fishin'  whilst  I  've  got  sense  tu  enj'y  it.  Lord, 
haow  many  times  I  think  o'  ol'  Kit  Jarvis  a-tryin' 
tu  go  a-traoutin'  arter  he  got  blind  as  a  bat.  He 
was  a  master  hand  for  huntin'  an'  fishin'  an'  a 
mate  o'  yer  father,  Jozeff,  when  I  was  a  boy. 

"  But  whilst  he  was  a  tough,  hearty  man,  he 
begin  tu  git  blind.  It  wa'n't  fellums  on  his  eyes, 
for  they  looked  jest  as  nat'ral  's  ever  they  did, 
on'y  when  he  was  a-talkin'  tu  you,  they  would  n't 
hit  you,  but  p'int  off  tu  one  side  mebby  an'  be  shut 
when  he  was  a-listenin'  tu  ye.  But  he  would  go 
a-huntin'  arter  he  got  so  's  't  he  could  n't  tell  a 
barn  from  a  haystack,  an'  they  said  he  shot  a 
pa'tridge  by  the  saound  of  her  quit-quittin',  an' 
he  'd  go  kerwack  ag'in'  a  tree  afore  he  see  it,  an* 
cuss  a  spell  an'  then  laugh  an'  make  fun  of  hisself . 

"  But  he  gin  up  huntin'  arter  he  'd  shot  Peltier's 
gran'ther's  yullin'  fer  a  deer.  4  Never  knowed 
my  gun  tu  cut  up  sech  a  caper  as  that  afore,'  says 
he,  4  an'  I  won't  trust  it  no  furder.' 

"  But  yit  he  would  go  a-traoutin',  an'  us  boys, 


258  LANVIS    FOLKS. 

the  Lord  forgive  us,  useter  laugh  tu  see  him 
a-pawin'  wi'  one  hand  fer  suthin'  'at  wa'n't  there, 
an'  a-pokin'  his  stick  julluk  a  pismire  feelin'  its 
way  'mongst  strange  things,  an'  stan'in'  harkin' 
fer  saounds  julluk  a  hawg  in  a  cornfier  an'  mebby 
tost  his  hook  ontu  a  lawg  or  rock,  an'  wait  an' 
wait  fer  a  bite.  I  wonder  the  Lord  did  n't  strike 
us  mis'able  leetle  torments  blind,  but  mebby  't  was 
'cause  we  useter  onsnag  his  hook  fer  him  an'  on- 
snarl  his  line,  an  led  him  tu  the  best  holes,  an' 
mebby  'twas  cause  He  don't  take  much  'caount 
o'  sech  leetle,  onsignificant  critters'  duin's. 

"  Arter  a  spell  he  gin  it  up,  jest  oncte  in  a 
while  tu  set  by  the  mill  pawnd  an'  fish  for  chubs 
an'  dace.  '  I  c'n  feel  'em  bite  an'  pull,  an'  hear 
'em  floppin'  in  the  grass,  an'  they  smell  like  fish, 
an'  it 's  better  'n  nothin'  ef  't  ain't  much  fun,' 
says  he,  '  an'  I  'spect  it  'muses  the  minnies  tu  see 
sech  a  ol'  dodunk  a-tryin'  to  ketch  'em.' 

"  When  it  come  his  turn  to  die  I  guess  he  was 
glad  on  't.  4 1  ben  the  same  as  dead  this  ten 
year,'  says  he,  4  the  world  a-rattlin'  raound  me 
'thaout  no  more  'caount  on  me  'an  if  I  wa'n't  in 
't,  my  own  flesh  an'  blood  grown  up  'thaout  my 
knowin'  haow  they  look,  er  seein'  my  ol'  womern's 
face  er  my  nighest  friend,  er  seein'  the  grass  an* 
the  trees  leaf  aout  er  shed  the'  leaves,  er  ever 
p'intin'  a  gun  er  hookin'  a  traout,  an'  jest  a-settm' ' 
an'  harkin'  in  the  everlastin'  dark  I  It 's  lun- 


MISFITS.  259 

some,  I  tell  ye.  A  blind  man  's  uselesser  'n  a 
dead  man,  an'  you  can't  bury  him  aout'n  the  way 
an'  be  perlite.' 

"  When  he  was  dead  he  looked  turrible  con 
tented,  Jozeff,  an'  yer  father,  says  he, '  Kit,  I  wish 
't  I  knowed  whether  you  c'n  see  tu  sight  yer  rifle 
naow.'  An'  I  guess  it 's  suthin'  we  'd  all  give 
consid'able  tu  know. 

"  Wai,  it 's  hopesin'  the  dark  won't  overtake 
none  o'  us  afore  it 's  time  tu  go  tu  sleep  f er  good, 
an'  naow  I  'm  goin'  tu  shut  up  shop." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A   RAINY   DAY. 

IT  was  a  May  day  with  April  weather.  The 
rain  had  poured  down  in  intermittent  showers 
during  the  night.  In  the  morning  the  rising  sun 
transmuted  the  gray  mist  to  floating  gold,  and 
turned  the  tremulous  strings  of  sun-drops  on 
every  bending  twig  to  resplendent  jewels. 

The  sheep  began  to  scatter  over  the  pastures, 
mumbling  out  calls  to  their  lambs  as  they  cropped 
the  wet  grass. 

But  the  robins  sang  vociferously  for  more  rain ; 
the  sun  veiled  itself  with  a  drifting  cloud,  border 
ing  it  with  gold,  and  shooting  from  behind  it 
broad,  divergent,  watery  bolts ;  a  film  of  shower 
was  trailed  along  the  mountain-side  ;  the  blotches 
of  sunlight  narrowed  and  faded  into  the  universal 
eombre  gray,  and,  after  a  brief  pattering  prelude, 
the  rain  poured  down  again,  and  swept  across  the 
blurred  landscape  in  majestic  columns,  that  fled 
along  the  earth  while  they  upheld  the  narrow  sky. 

Then  it  stopped  as  suddenly  as  it  began,  the 
Bun  shone  out  and  revived  the  drowned  splendor 
of  the  earth,  the  bedraggled  robins  sang  again, 


A  RAINY  DAY.  261 

and  the  murmur  of  the  swollen  brooks  rose  and 
fell  more  distinctly  with  the  puffs  and  lulls  of  the 
inconstant  wind.  Then  the  sky  would  darken 
and  blot  out  the  patches  of  blue  and  the  half -built 
arch  of  a  rainbow,  and  the  new  showers  chase 
away  the  straggling  sunbeams,  and  the  pour  of 
the  downfall  overbear  all  other  sounds. 

Thus  it  was  pouring,  when  Uncle  Lisha  came 
into  the  shop  from  the  house  and  put  on  his  apron, 
stooping  low  as  he  tied  the  strings  to  look  out 
through  the  blurred  panes  upon  the  narrow  land 
scape.  He  saw  the  innumerable  jets  of  the  pud 
dles  leaping  up  to  meet  the  rain,  the  pelted,  dodg 
ing  leaves  of  the  plum  and  cherry  trees  bending 
over  their  fallen  blossoms,  that,  like  untimely  snow, 
lay  beneath  them,  where  a  group  of  fowls  stood, 
bedraggled  and  forlorn,  with  shortened  necks  and 
slanted  tails. 

Beyond,  all  objects  became  flattened  and  more 
indistinct  till,  in  the  gray  background,  mountain 
and  sky  met  and  dissolved  in  each  other. 

An  umbrella  was  coming  up  the  road,  dodging 
from  side  to  side  as  the  bearer  avoided  puddles 
and  sprang  across  rivulets.  The  misty  fabric 
materialized  into  blue  cotton,  and  presently  en 
tered  the  shop,  closed,  with  its  depressed  point 
streaming  like  a  conduit,  followed  by  Pelatiah, 
who  set  it  to  dribble  in  a  corner  as  he  said,  "  Haow 
de  do,"  and  then,  "  Gosh,"  as  a  sufficient  comment 
on  the  weather. 


262  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  I  'm  turrible  glad  you  've  come,  Peltier/'  said 
Uncle  Lislia,  searching  among  his  tools  for  his 
pipe,  "  fer  it 's  a  lunsome  kinder  day,  an'  I  wa'n't 
expectin'  nob'dy.  It 's  kinder  chilly,  an'  I  don't 
b'lieve  but  what  you  'd  better  whittle  up  some 
kindlin'  an'  start  a  fire  in  the  stove." 

Nothing  loath,  Pelatiah  got  some  wood  from  the 
box,  and,  kneeling  before  the  stove,  whittled  some 
kindling,  laid  and  lighted  it,  and,  still  kneeling, 
intently  watched  the  slow  progress  of  the  flame. 

"  Wai,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  at  him  with 
kindly  anxiety,  "  haow  be  ye  gittin'  'long  ?  Feel- 
in'  any  comf 'tabler  in  yer  mind  ?  " 

"  It  aches  contin'al,"  Pelatiah  answered. 

"  You  don't  go  tu  Hamner's  no  more  ?  " 

Pelatiah  shook  his  head  as  he  got  on  all  fours 
to  blow  the  reluctant  fire,  and  answered,  "  Not 
sence  you  gin  me  a  talkin'  tu  'n  under  the  bridge." 

"  You  done  almighty  well,  boy,  an'  you  jest 
stick  to  't.  When  you  hain't  tu  work,  you  go 
a-fishin'  as  often  's  ye  can,  an'  when  it  gits  so  't 
there  hain't  no  fishin',  go  a-huntin',  an'  'twixt 
'em  they  '11  fetch  ye  aout." 

The  two  doors  opened  almost  at  the  same  mo 
ment,  and  Sam  entered  from  the  kitchen  leading 
his  now  toddling  boy,  followed  by  his  father, 
bringing  in  an  ox-bow  to  whittle  and  scrape  where 
litter  offered  no  offence,  while  Solon  and  Antoine 
came  in  from  the  rainy  outer  world. 


A  RAINY  DAY.  263 

"  Hoddy  do,  all  de company?"  Antoine  saluted. 
"What  you'll  said  'bout  fishin's?  Ah  s'pose 
prob'ly  you  an'  Peltiet  tink  you  felt  pooty  plump 
for  ketch  so  much  feesh,  ant  it  ?  "  He  got  beside 
the  stove,  steaming  in  the  growing  warmth,  and 
preparing  also  to  smoke.  "  Wai,  seh,  One'  Lasha, 
dat  ant  n'ot'ing,  not' ing  for  wat  Ah  '11  do  wen  Ah 
leeve  in  Canada." 

"  Naow  lie,  dum  ye,"  Uncle  Lisha  growled. 

"  Haow  many  tarn,"  Antoine  demanded  with 
grieved  impressiveness,  "  Ah  '11  gat  for  tol'  you 
Ah  ant  never  lie  ?  M'sieu  Mumpson,  he  '11  read 
me  'baout  George  Washins  son  chawp  a  happle- 
tree  wid  hees  new  saw,  an'  tol'  hees  fader  he  '11 
do  it  'cause  he  '11  can'  lie.  Ah  '11  chawp  more  as 
forty  happle,  prob'ly  f eef ty  tree  'fore  Ah  '11  lie,  me. 
Yas,  sah.  But  Ah  '11  goin'  tol'  you.  Great  many 
tarn,  but  one  teekly  tarn  Ah  '11  go  f eeshins  an'  Ah 
'11  trow  meh  hook  wid  nice  waum  on  it  an'  de 
traout  was  so  hongry  in  hees  belly  an'  so  crazy  in 
hees  head  dey  '11  go  after  it  so  fas',  de  fus  one  git 
it,  de  nex'  one  touch  hoi'  hees  mouf  of  dat  one's 
tail  an'  de  nex'  de  sem  way  till  dey  was  twenty 
prob'ly  'f  dey  ant  fifteen  all  in  string,  an'  Ah  '11 
pull  it  mos'  so  hard  Ah  '11  can't,  an',  seh,  Ah  '11 
gat  all  of  it  honly  de  middlin'  one  was  kan  o'  slim- 
ber,  an'  broke  off,  so  Ah  '11  loss  de  hine  en'  of  de 
row.  Hoi'  on,"  as  Uncle  Lisha  began  to  open 
his  mouth,  "  Ah  '11  ant  fineesh.  W'en  de  traout 


264  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

in  de  water  see  where  Ah '11  sot  mah  deesh  of 
wauin  on  de  bank,  he  '11  beegin  jomp  on  de  bank 
for  gat  it,  an'  tumble  top  of  herself  for  gat  it. 
Den  seh,  One'  Lasha,  Ah  '11  peek  up  mah  deesh 
an'  shook  it,  an'  holly  'caday,  caday,'  an'  dat 
traouts  folia  me  home  so  fas'  Ah  '11  had  to  run  an' 
shut  de  door  for  keep  it  from  feel  up  de  haouse." 

"Ann  Twine,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  heaving  a 
sigh  of  relief  and  sinking  back  into  his  seat  till  the 
leathern  bottom  creaked,  "  I  was  raly  afeared  you 
was  a-goin'  tu  tell  one  o'  your  lies."  Then  bend 
ing  over  his  work,  and,  as  he  drew  the  threads, 
setting  his  teeth  hard,  as  if  that  might  insure  the 
perfect  closing  of  the  seam,  he  said,  "  I  s'pose  I 
c'n  pooty  nigh  match  ye,  Ann  Twine,  on'y  my 
story  's  true." 

"  All  '11  wan'  hear  you  tol'  jus'  one  o'  dat  kan, 
seh." 

"  Wai,  oncte  aout  West,  where  I  was  in  West- 
constant,  the'  was  a  man  went  an'  chopped  a  hole 
in  the  ice  in  a  crik  tu  water  his  cattle,  an'  there 
was  a  dozen  bullpaouts  come  up  in  the  hole,  an' 
he  begin  a-heavin'  on  'em  aout  tu  kerry  'em  hum 
fer  his  dinner,  but,  fust  he  knowed,  it  filled  up 
full,  an'  he  run  tu  git  a  bushel  baskit  tu  scoop  'em 
up,  an'  when  he  got  back  the  hole  was  a-runnin' 
over  wi'  fish,  jest  a-b'ilin'  over  on  t'  the  ice,  an' 
kep'  a-duin'  so  till  they  run  over  on  t'  the  shore 
furder  an'  furder,  till  he  begun  tu  be  afeared 


A  RAINY  DAY.  265 

they  'd  kiver  up  his  farm  an'  spile  it.  But  the 
folks  begin  tu  hear  on  't  an'  come  wi'  their  teams 
f'm  twenty  mild  off,  an'  hauled  the  bullpaouts 
away  in  reg'lar  per  cessions,  thirty  forty  sled-loads 
in  a  string,  an'  fed  'em  to  the'  hawgs,  an'  m'nured 
the7  land  wi'  them,  till  folks  did  n't  know  whether 
they  was  eatin'  pork  or  fish,  on'y  fer  bein'  no 
bones,  an'  the  hull  country  smelt  like  a  fish  kittle  all 
summer." 

Uncle  Lisha  looked  around  upon  his  audience, 
all  of  whom  wondered  silently,  except  Antoine, 
who  asked :  — 

"  You  '11  see  dat,  One'  Lasha  ?  " 

"Wai,  no;  it  happened  the  winter  afore  I 
went  there,  an'  I  did  n't  ezactly  see  it,  but  I 
smelt  it." 

"  Wai,  you  ant  miss  much,  One'  Lasha.  It  ant 
be  much  for  see  jes'  few  bullpawt.  If  Ah  '11  ant 
gat  so  hoi'  Ah  '11  f regit  for  rembler  mos'  all  Ah  '11 
see,  Ah  could  tol'  you  sometings." 

"  What 's  the  reason  you  don't  tell  us  more  o* 
your  experiences  aout  West,  Uncle  Lisher  ?"  So 
lon  asked. 

"  What 's  the  reason,"  the  old  man  demanded, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  'at  you  an'  Ann  Twine 
don't  tell  us  some  o'  your  experiences  up  on  the 
maountain  t'  other  day  ?  " 

The  treasure  seekers  stared  at  each  other  in 
blank  amazement,  wondering  how  their  secret 


266  DAN  VIS    FOLKS. 

could  have  escaped  their  keeping,  when  in  fact  it 
was  only  shrewdly  guessed  at  by  their  host. 

"Why,  we  hain't  got  nothin'  tu  tell,"  said 
Solon  at  last. 

"  Wai,  I  hain't,  nuther ;  not  'at  appears 
wuth  tellin'.  Say,  folks,"  during  which  the  mis. 
chievous  twinkle  of  his  gray  eyes  brightened, 
"  du  you  know  'at  two  men,  which  their  names  I 
won't  call,  went  up  on  t'  the  niaountain  a-s'archin' 
arter  money  'at  the  man  'at  baried  it  hisself 
could  n't  find  ag'in  ?  Oh,  the'  's  fools  an'  allus  will 
be,  but  I  cal'late  them  two  's  the  beatin'." 

"  If  the'  was  sech  men,  which  I  don't  omit  the' 
was,"  said  Solon,  breaking  the  awkward  silence, 
"  they  wa'n't  huntin'  nothin'  but  onnat'ral  cur'osi- 
ties,  er  minnyrils,  er  Injin  relishes.  Wai,"  as  a 
gleam  of  sunlight  patched  the  littered  floor  and 
tiie  baby  struggled  between  his  father's  knees  to 
reach  it,  "  the  sun  is  a-divulgin'  aout,  an'  I  guess 
I  '11  be  a-moggin'.  Goin'  my  way,  An  twine  ?  " 

44  Did  they,  raly?"  Sam  said,  with  a  smile 
VAoadening  on  his  face  as  the  door  closed  behind 
them. 

Uncle  Lisha  slowly  nodded  his  head  and  Sam 
laughed  outright,  while  the  little  boy  reached  for 
the  intangible  sunbeams. 

44  Can't  git  it,  bubby,  no  more  'n  they  could 
*hat  they  was  arter,"  chuckled  the  old  man. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

JUNE   TRAINING. 

BESIDES  beautifying  the  earth  with  the  green 
ness  of  woods  and  fields,  the  bloom  of  innumera 
ble  flowers,  and  the  sparkle  of  limpid  yet  un- 
shrunken  streams,  and  gladdening  it  with  the 
songs  of  thronging  birds  as  happy  as  the  golden 
days  were  long,  the  first  month  of  summer  brought 
also  upon  its  first  Tuesday  the  June  training. 

In  the  year  whereof  this  partial  record  is  made 
the  day  was  unseasonably  ushered  in,  according 
to  established  usage,  by  the  ceremony  of  u  wakin' 
up  off'cers."  A  party  of  the  younger  men  made 
the  rounds  of  the  homes  of  those  dignitaries,  arous 
ing  them  with  volleys  of  musketry,  when,  if  they 
were  men  of  proper  martial  spirit,  and  alive  to  its 
encouragement,  they  would  come  forth  with  re 
freshment  befitting  warriors. 

The  cock's  prolonged  clarion  notes  were  salut 
ing  the  unfolding  banner  of  dawn,  when  Captain 
Peek  was  awakened  by  a  volley  whose  rattling 
thunder  was  intensified  by  wads  of  green  grass 
rammed  down  on  the  double  charges  of  powder. 

The  captain  speedily  made  his  appearance  at 


268  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

the  door,  rubbing  his  sleepy  eyes  with  the  back 
of  a  hand  that  held  a  tumbler,  while  the  other 
bore  a  brown  jug  that  coldly  bumped  his  naked 

leg- 

"  'Mornin',  gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  tones  that 
strove  valiantly  through  drowsiness  to  become 
hearty ;  "  hope  I  see  ye  well  this  mornin'.  Walk 
right  up  an'  refresh  yourselves." 

He  essayed  to  advance  toward  them,  but  hastily 
withdrew  his  bare  foot  from  the  dewy  doorstep. 

"  Sarjint  Daow,  won't  you  jest  kinder  take 
a  holt  o'  this  an'  pass  it  'raoun'  ?  " 

The  tall  sergeant,  setting  his  gun  against  the 
doorpost,  swung  the  jug  over  his  arm,  and,  with 
accurate  judgment  of  his  men,  measured  out  to 
each  a  fiery  charge  suited  to  his  calibre. 

Then,  with  a  lusty  cheer  for  "  the  cap'n  in  his 
uniform,"  they  departed  to  surprise  as  stealthily 
the  lieutenants  in  their  strongholds. 

Meanwhile  their  commander  bore  the  depleted 
jug  to  its  cupboard,  and  the  burden  of  military 
honor  back  to  bed.  He  did  not  feel  himself  at 
all  a  hero  when  he  curled  up  his  legs  in  obedience 
to  Mrs.  Peck's  petulant  command :  - 

"  Solerman  Peck,  take  your  col'  feet  off  'm  me. 
They  're  julluk  tew  frawgs.  I  don't  b'lieve  it  no 
part  o'  military  desiplyne  fer  a  captain  of  a  com 
pany  to  be  a-galivantin'  raound  in  —  his  —  shirt 
tail  —  in  middle  of  er  —  night  tu  —  tu  —  squer- 


JUNE  TEAINING.  269 

ronnk,"  and  with  a  trumpet  blast  delightful  to  his 
ear  she  resumed  her  interrupted  march  into  the 
land  of  Nod. 

The  beautiful  day  was  not  far  advanced  when 
the  one  street  of  the  Forge  village  began  to  ex 
hibit  the  half -indolent  bustle  of  a  country  holiday. 
Boys  were  arriving,  heated  and  panting  from  a 
haste  that  had  not  till  now  permitted  them  to  stop 
even  for  the  nursing  of  stubbed  toes.  One  of 
Antoine's  brown-skinned,  black-polled  brood  car 
ried  a  smooth  bit  of  board  on  the  hollow  of  his 
arm  whereon  were  displayed  twists  of  molasses 
candy,  and  already  was  crying  his  home-made 
confection  in  his  father's  own  English :  — 

"  Lassin  candle.     Two  for  cen'  apiece." 

Militiamen  came  in,  on  foot  and  in  wagons,  and 
men  straggled  from  one  to  another  of  the  increas 
ing  groups  on  Hamner's  stoop,  the  steps  of  Clap- 
ham's  old  store,  and  of  the  new  and  popular  Bas- 
com's,  as  interest  or  curiosity  impelled  them. 

Here  and  there  a  man  hurried  about  his  belated 
chores.  White-haired  exempts  sat  at  their  doors, 
agape  with  languid,  senile  curiosity.  Women  in 
unwontedly  early  tidiness  of  dress  went  back  and 
forth  from  house  to  house,  bearing  openly  or  under 
aprons  some  neglected  or  forgotten  provisions  for 
the  day  during  which  relatives  or  friends  might 
desire  entertainment. 

A  very  fat  and  no  less  benevolent-looking  old 


270  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

man  in  a  blue  homespun  frock,  seated  on  a  tali- 
backed,  splint-bottomed  chair,  in  a  lumber  wagon 
that  also  held  a  barrel  of  spruce  beer  behind  him, 
drove  his  fat  and  sedate  old  horse  near  to  the 
front  of  Hamner's  hostelry,  and  clambering  care 
fully  down  over  the  stout  thill,  unhitched  his 
horse  and  led  it  away. 

"  Wai,"  said  one  housewife,  as  she  dropped  the 
rush  curtain  under  which  she  had  watched  him, 
"  I  guess  the'  hain't  no  daoubt  but  what  it 's 
trainin'  day,  f er  ol'  Beedle  's  come,  an' '  he  's  sot 
up  clus  til  Hamner's.  Won't  that  rile  Hamner  ? 
But  it  don't  make  no  dif'ence,  his  cust'mers  ain't 
hankerin'  arter  spreuce  beer." 

Old  Beedle,  coming  back,  removed  the  end 
board  from  his  wagon  and  made  a  counter  of  it 
whereon  he  placed  his  tumblers,  shoved  the  tap 
of  the  cask  beyond  the  end  of  the  box,  took  out 
the  chair,  seated  himself  comfortably,  and  pro 
claimed  his  readiness  to  serve  customers  with 
beer  at  one  cent  a  glass,  counting  the  change  that 
he  carried  in  a  canvas  shot-bag,  while  he  awaited 
their  coming. 

Not  far  off  a  little  board  booth  that  had  grown 
the  day  before  began  to  blossom  out  with  yellow 
cakes  of  gingerbread,  a  jar  of  striped  candy  and 
green  tumblers  of  lemonade,  which  attracted  many 
flies  and  a  few  boys  to  its  rough  counter. 

Then   Joseph  Hill  and   his    father  drove    in, 


JUNE  TRAINING.  271 

with  the  long  gun  aslant,  the  son  being  permitted 
to  carry  it  to-day  in  such  honorable  service,  for  so 
the  veteran  regarded  it,  though  "  June  trainin'  " 
was  becoming  a  mere  farce  among  a  people  whose 
martial  spirit  seemed  almost  dead. 

Sam  Lovel  marched  past  in  his  long-strided, 
fox-hunting  gait,  followed  by  Pelatiah  with  down 
cast  eyes,  bearing  his  irksome  gun.  Time  was 
when  he  looked  forward  with  a  thrill  of  pride  to 
the  day  Lowizy  should  see  him  adroitly  practicing 
his  lesson  in  the  art  of  war,  but  that  was  an 
ended  dream.  Now,  Stony  and  Beaver  Meadow 
brooks  were  calling  him  with  concerted  babble, 
and  he  would  rather  go  a-fishing  than  join  in  this 
foolery,  or,  rather  still,  go  out  to  battle  to  die, 
and  forget,  and  perchance  draw  one  tear  from 
those  blue  eyes  that  were  always  haunting  him. 

Captain  Peck,  scarcely  recognizable  by  those  to 
whom  he  had  first  appeared  that  morning,  was 
proudly  conspicuous  on  Hamner's  stoop  in  a 
square-topped,  broad- visored  cap  with  a  red,  white, 
and  blue  pompon,  enormous  yellow  epaulettes  on 
the  shoulders  of  his  tightly  buttoned  blue  claw 
hammer  coat,  and  white  trousers  incased  legs  that 
were  frequently  entangled  with  the  scabbard  of 
his  huge  sword.  His  first  lieutenant  wore  a  bell- 
crowned  beaver  hat  and  a  blazing  red  coat,  a 
relic  of  some  defunct  uniformed  company,  while 
his  junior  in  rank  was  designated  only  by  a  huge 


272  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

red  sash  encircling  his  loins  and  the  cavalry  sabre 
depending  from  it.  The  fifer  and  drummer  sat 
on  the  steps  toying  with  their  instruments,  with 
a  group  of  boys  gaping  in  tireless  expectancy  be 
fore  them.  Sergeant  Dow  lingered  near,  awaiting 
orders,  without  a  trace  of  drowsiness  from  his 
self-imposed  early  duties. 

The  captain  endeavored  to  draw  his  watch  from 
its  padded  fortifications,  but  failed,  and  went  to 
consult  Hamner's  clock.  "  Sarjint  Daow,"  he 
called,  as  he  bustled  forth,  "  you  can  fall  in  the 
men  naow." 

At  the  word,  the  drummer  began  to  rattle  the 
call  familiarly  set  to  the  words,  "  Uncle  Dan, 
Uncle  Dan,  Uncle  Dan,  Dan,  Dan,"  and  the  men 
came  straggling  into  line,  a  few  ready  and  alert, 
but  the  greater  part  listless  and  careless,  and 
some  bearing  only  clubs  and  broomsticks  in  place 
of  proper  weapons. 

Standing  stiff  as  a  ramrod  at  the  head  of  his 
rank,  Sam  looked  with  supreme  disgust  on  these 
military  mummers  who  should  have  withered  un 
der  the  fiery  indignation  of  Gran'ther  Hill's 
glances. 

"  You  'd  orter  be  court-marsheled  an'  shot, 
blast  ye  !  "  he  growled,  "  an'  so  ye  would  ha'  ben, 
ef  ye  lived  when  folks  hed  spunk  tu  du  anything" 
and  he  shook  his  impotent  staff.  "  Pooty  critters 
you  be  tu  make  sojers  on !  " 


JUNE  TRAINING.  273 

It  gave  him  some  comfort  to  see  his  own  gun, 
upheld  by  his  son,  towering  like  a  naked  color- 
staff  in  the  centre  of  the  line. 

44  Jozeff  hain't  turrible  hefty  on  sojerin',  but  he 
kerries  a  gun  'at 's  used  to  the  business,  anyway," 
he  remarked  to  those  about  him. 

Uncle  Lisha,  standing  by  his  side,  uttered  in 
snorts  and  ejaculations  his  grief  and  indignation 
at  the  spectacle  of  the  unsoldierly  bearing  of  men 
whose  fathers  had  so  gallantly  borne  the  ever 
green  emblem  of  Vermont  through  the  storm  of 
Plattsburgh  fight. 

At  last  the  company  was  got  into  line  and  par 
tially  straightened  by  the  united  efforts  of  all  the 
officers,  in  pulling  a  man  here  and  pushing  another 
there ;  then  they  faced  to  the  right.  The  fif er 
rocked  back  and  forth  from  foot  to  foot  to  assure 
himself  of  the  time,  the  order  was  given  to  march, 
fife  and  drum  struck  up  "  Yankee  Doodle,"  and, 
with  an  irregular  tramp  of  fourscore  pairs  of  feet, 
the  Floodwood  Company  of  Danvis  went  march 
ing  down  the  street,  all  the  boys  running  beside 
it,  the  women  waving  their  handkerchiefs,  and  the 
captain's  pompon  bobbing  proudly  before  it. 

Then  it  was  countermarched,  and,  returning  to 
Hanmer's,  halted  there  and  went  through  some 
antique  manual  of  arms,  during  the  performance 
of  which  some  who  felt  the  need  of  refreshment 
after  such  arduous  service  dashed  out  of  the 


274  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

ranks  and  into  the  bar-room  and  presently  reap« 
peared  wiping  their  lips,  to  leisurely  resume  their 
places  without  reprimand. 

The  men  were  soon  dismissed  for  their  noon 
ing,  and  a  cordial  invitation  was  given  by  the 
genial  Bascom,  to  all  who  would,  to  partake  of  a 
free  lunch  of  crackers  and  cheese  at  his  store, 
thereby  greatly  increasing  his  own  popularity 
and  depreciating  that  of  his  less  patriotic  rival, 
who  sat  almost  alone  in  the  shadow  of  his  own 
store,  placidly  awaiting  his  foreseen  time,  as  he 
said  softly  to  himself  :  — 

"  That  feller 's  got  pretty  nigh  the  len'th  o'  his 
rope.  He  won't  be  givin'  away  crackers  an' 
cheese  nex'  trainin'." 

The  captain  dined  at  Hamner's  with  his  of 
ficers  and  most  aspiring  privates.  Cap'n  Hill 
and  Uncle  Lisha  were  honored  guests  of  village 
friends  to  whom  they  told  stories  of  the  warlike 
days  of  which  they  had  been  a  part.  The  larger 
number  of  the  militiamen  having  providently 
brought  their  rations  in  pockets,  tin  pails,  and 
baskets,  gathered  in  picnicking  groups  at  centres 
most  convenient  for  the  irrigation  of  their  dry 
fare,  some  squatting  on  the  platforms  of  pumps 
and  well-curbs,  where  the  gulping  crescendo  of 
the  one  and  the  splash  and  bump  of  the  other's 
bucket  often  interrupted  or  overbore  the  flow  of 
joke  and  repartee. 


JUNE  TRAINING.  275 

Some  roosted  on  the  thills  and  other  available 
perches  afforded  by  old  Beedle's  wagon,  where 
draughts  of  the  spicy  beer  were  within  easy  reach, 
and  some,  burning  with  a  valiant  thirst  that 
neither  water  nor  beer  could  subdue,  occupied 
the  thinned  benches  in  the  noontide  shade  of  Ham- 
ner's  stoop,  firing  volleys  of  wit  at  each  other 
and  at  the  boys  who  stole  past  them  to  gaze  on 
the  captain's  sword  that  now  hung  peacefully 
behind  the  bar,  while  its  owner  wielded  meaner 
weapons  against  the  sacred  rage  of  hunger. 

A  horde  of  boys  swarmed  about  the  benevo 
lent  old  Beedle  who  dispensed  smiles  and  kindly 
words  with  his  foaming  glasses  of  innocuous  beer 
and  always  gave  the  right  change  for  every  "  fo' 
pen's  hap'ny,"  though  its  Spanish  blazonry  of 
pillars  and  scroll  was  quite  effaced.  And  boys 
crowded  about  the  booth  in  eager  purchase  of 
the  choky  but  delicious  gingerbread,  as  yellow  as 
old  gold  and  of  greater  worth  to  their  hungry 
stomachs. 

Meanwhile  there  was  hospitable  clatter  of 
plates,  knives,  and  forks  in  every  wayside  house, 
the  sound  whereof  made  hungrier  every  passer-by. 

"  A  turrible  free-hearted  creetur' !  "  said  one  of 
Bascom's  guests  to  a  fellow-soldier,  jerking  his 
head  sidewise  toward  the  smiling  proprietor,  while 
he  turned  a  fresh  cracker  in  search  of  the  best 
point  of  attack,  "  an'  'pears  tu  be  a  candid  sort 


276  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

o*  man,  but  it  beats  all  natur  haow  he  's  borryin1 
of  ev'yb'dy." 

"N'yiun,  n'yum,  n'yum,"  mumbled  his  full- 
mouthed  comrade  with  assenting  nods. 

"  Yis,  borryin'  of  ev'b'dy,"  continued  the  other. 
"Why  they  say  't  he's  borryed  $300  of  the 
Buttles  gals  'at  they  'd  laid  up  a-tailorin',  withaout 
a  mite  o'  security.  Poor  oF  critters,  fifty  year 
ol'  the  youngest  on  'em  is.  All  they  'd  got  saved 
up.  Hope  they  won't  lose  it,  but  I  d'  know." 

Sam,  overhearing  them,  raised  his  eyes  from 
the  smoked  herring  he  was  peeling,  to  study  the 
face  of  his  friend  Bascom,  a  genial,  beaming  face, 
with  restless  eyes  that  met  another's  but  for  an  in 
stant  ;  but  surely  there  was  no  guile  in  it. 

During  the  nooning,  the  village  street  so  nearly 
resumed  its  ordinary  peaceful  aspect  that  Joel 
Bartlett,  clad  in  his  Quaker  garb,  appeared  in  it 
as  a  not  incongruous  figure,  mounted  on  a  wagon 
load  of  grain  and  driving  sedately  toward  the 
mill.  Millers  being  exempt  from  military  duty, 
and  but  few  grists  being  likely  to  come  to  the 
mill  on  this  day,  it  seemed  a  propitious  one  for 
Joel.  He  was  suspected  by  some  of  possessing  a 
worldly,  unconfessed  love  for  music,  embracing 
even  the  martial  strains  of  the  fife  and  drum. 

As  he  slowly  turned  the  corner,  holding  an  at 
tentive  ear,  and  casting  a  wistful,  furtive  glance 
up  the  main  street,  he  attracted  the  notice  of 


JUNE  TRAINING.  277 

Beri  Burton,  whom  frequent  calls  at  Hamner's 
bar  had  made  pot-valiant  and  more  than  usually 
aggressive. 

"  See  that  aire  dumb  sneakin'  Quaker,"  he 
mumbled,  with  one-half  a  doughnut  in  his  mouth 
while  he  pointed  at  Joel  with  the  other  half. 
"  Goldumb  Quaker,  ridin'  rouii'  comf  ble,  when 
better  men  's  sarvin'  the  country.  Goldumb  ef  I 
don't  make  him  git  daown  off  'in  his  waggin  an' 
shoulder  my  muskit."  And  starting  up  from  the 
group  with  which  he  was  lunching,  with  long, 
shambling  strides,  he  advanced  rapidly  toward 
Joel,  shouting  vociferously,  "  Hoi'  on  thar,  you 
Bartlett,  I  got  somep'n  fer  tu  tell  ye." 

When  Joel  became  aware  that  he  was  addressed, 
he  drew  rein  and  awaited  Beri's  approach,  asking 
quietly  as  the  other  came  beside  the  wagon  :  — 

"  Was  thee  a-wishin'  to  speak  tu  me,  friend  Bur 
ton?" 

"  Yis,  I  be,"  growled  Beri,  "  but  I  hain't  none 
o'  your  4  friend  Burton.'  I  want  you  tu  git  ri' 
daown  here." 

"  No,  I  thank  thee,  I  don't  feel  drawn  tu  git 
daown,"  Joel  answered.  "  I  can  converse  quite 
freely  where  I  be." 

"  Goldumb  ye,  you  will  feel  drawed  down  'f  ye 
don't  pile  off'm  thar.  What  business  you  got 
a-ridin'  raoun'  wi'  your  dumb  drab  broad-brim 
clos'  when  decent  folks  is  a-duin'  thar  dooty. 


278  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

You  gotter  git  ri'  daown  here  an'  shoulder  a 
muskit  like  a  hones'  man  oncte  in  yer  sneakin' 
life." 

His  brawny  hand  grasped  one  of  Joel's  butter 
nut-dyed  stockings  and  Joel  drew  the  other  close 
under  his  haunch. 

"  I  'm  a  man  of  peace,"  he  said,  "  and  hev  no 
call  tu  handle  carnal  weepons." 

"  You  come  daown  er  I  '11  pull  ye  daown,  I 
will." 

"  Oh,  you  'd  better  let  him  be,  Beri,"  mildly 
expostulated  a  militiaman  who  had  drawn  near. 
"  He  hain't  'bliged  to  train,  ye  know,  an'  ef  we 
wa'n't,  we  would  n't." 

Beri's  answer  was  a  more  vigorous  jerk  of  the 
enthralled  member. 

"  If  thee  yanks  me  so  hard,  friend  Beri,"  said 
Joel  calmly,  "  my  t'  other  foot  is  lierble  to  slip, 
an'  ef  it  should  hit  thee  in  the  face  an'  hurt  thee, 
I  should  feel  grieved." 

Beri  pulled  more  savagely,  roaring,  "  Come 
off  'm  thar." 

Joel,  as  he  slid  a  little  from  his  lofty  seat,  let 
fly  his  loose  foot  full  in  the  face  of  his  uncouth 
adversary,  who,  staggering  backward  with  his 
hand  to  his  battered  nose,  howled  with  pain  and 
rage. 

"  Dumb  ye,"  he  roared,  glowering  darkly  up 
over  his  bruised  features,  and  making  feeble  de- 


JUNE  TRAINING.  279 

monstrations  in  the  same  direction,  "  I  'm  a  good 
minter  break  yer  neck." 

"  Friend  Beri,  I  hope  my  foot  won't  slip  ag'in, 
but  ef  it  does  I  hain't  answerable." 

"  Goldumb  ye,  I  won't  dirty  my  fingers  wi'  yer 
Quaker  carkiss.  I've  hed  a  wolf's  foot  in  my 
maouth,  an'  a  Quaker's  hoof  in  my  face,  an'  I  do' 
want  no  wus  disgrace." 

Joel's  contracted  brow  and  closely  puckered  lips 
relaxed,  and  his  face  assumed  its  usual  placidity 
as  he  resumed  his  seat,  and  chirruping  to  his 
horses  they  moved  sedately  onward,  while  Beri 
shambled  away,  as  much  abashed  as  it  was  in  his 
nature  to  be. 

Joel  had  the  miller  and  mill  to  himself  for  half 
the  afternoon,  but  it  was  noticeable  that  when  the 
company  paraded  for  afternoon  drill,  and  fife  and 
drum  struck  up  "  The  White  Cockade,"  "  Yankee 
Doodle,"  and  their  one  other  tune,  "  The  Road  to 
Boston,"  he  took  himself  out  of  the  noise  of  the 
mill  clack  and  rushing  water,  and  with  his  back 
resolutely  turned  to  the  music  gazed  into  space  in 
abstracted  meditation. 

At  about  one  o'clock  the  drum  resumed  its 
monotonous  iteration  of  "  Uncle  Dan,"  and 
44  the  sinners  of  war,"  as  their  commander  flatter 
ingly  styled  them,  wandered  again  into  crooked 
alignment,  shouldered  arms,  marched  and  coun 
termarched,  wheeled  right  and  left  like  a  wave* 


280  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

tossed  seine,  "  charged  bay 'net,"  to  the  affright  of 
the  scurrying  host  of  boys,  and  at  last,  at  four 
o'clock,  "  p'ised  arms "  and  disbanded ;  and  the 
farce  of  "  June  trainin'  "  was  ended. 

After  buzzing  about  for  a  while  with  as  little 
purpose  as  a  swarm  of  flies,  the  greater  part  of 
the  militiamen  and  spectators  departed,  while 
some  lingered  to  do  forgotten  errands  or  regale 
themselves  with  the  seductive  sweets  of  gossip  and 
strong  waters  at  Hamner's. 

Bevies  of  boys  trudged  homeward  shrilly  re* 
counting  the  events  of  the  day.  Old  Beedle  went 
jolting  over  the  highway,  his  empty  cask  rum 
bling  and  his  well-filled  shot  bag  chinking  a  tune 
very  pleasant  to  his  ears. 

Sam,  Pelatiah,  and  Antoine  bore  each  other 
company  homeward. 

"  By  the  gret  horn  spoon !  "  the  first  exclaimed, 
"  I  '11  stay  tu  hum  an'  pay  my  fine  afore  I  '11  jine 
sech  foolin'  ag'in.  It  gits  wus  an'  wus  every 
year,  a-pomponadin'  back  an'  tu  like  a  passel  o' 
sheep,  every  man  duin'  jest  as  he  's  a  mind  tu,  an' 
larnin'  nothin'.  I  'd  ruther  stay  tu  hum  an'  du 
nothin'  er  work  in  Huldy's  posy  bed." 

"  I  'd  ruther  go  a-fishin',"  said  Pelatiah,  regret 
fully,  as  his  wistful  eyes  followed  the  winding 
copses  and  straggling  ranks  of  elms  that  marked 
the  courses  of  his  favorite  streams.  "  An'  what 's 
the  use  o'  trainin',  anyway?  The'  won't  never 


JUNE    TRAINING.  281 

be  no  more  fightin'.  It 's  gone  aout  o'  fashion, 
seems  'ough." 

"  It  won't  never,  I  'm  afeard,  till  folks  git  tu 
be  angels  er  geese,  which  they  're  gittin,  mighty 
nigh.  Fust  ye  know,  the'  '11  come  a  war,  kerslap, 
an'  nob'cly  ready  'mongst  all  the  stuff  we  've  got 
tu  make  sogers  on,  jest  as  good  sogers  as  fit  in  the 
Eevolution  an'  eighteen-hundred-an'-twelve.  But 
I  s'pose  it  don't  take  long  tu  larn  tu  kill  folks,  an' 
it 's  hopesin'  we  won't  haf  tu." 

"  Ah  '11  goin'  tole  you  de  trut',  seh,"  said  An- 
toine,  who  had  been  a  curious  and  interested  spec 
tator  ;  "  it  was  mos'  look  wus  as  de  Papineau  war, 
on  de  Patrick  side  of  it.  De  British  he  look 
pooty,  honly  he  '11  gat  too  much  gaun  an'  shoot  it 
too  much.  He  can  leek  more  as  honded  tousan' 
you  feller.  Why,  seh,  he  '11  leek  me,  mahsef." 

Just  relieved  of  his  holiday  coat  and  hat,  Un 
cle  Lisha  sat  sweating  in  his  shirt  sleeves  when 
Sam  entered  his  kitchen.  Joseph  Hill,  who  had 
come  a  mile  from  home  to  rest  himself,  lounged 
in  an  easy-chair. 

"I  seen  one  man  tu-day,"  said  Uncle  Lisha, 
looking  at  Huldah,  "  'at  looked  julluk  sech  sojers 
as  we  hed  tu  Plattsburgh,  an'  the  fust  letters  of 
his  name  is  Samwill  Lovel." 

"  I  doan'  know  but  what  I  'd  jest  abaout  as 
lives  train  as  not  tu,  an'  abaout  as  lives  not  tu  as 
tu,"  said  Joseph,  serenely  unenvious  of  the  compli- 


282  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

ment  that  reddened  Sam's  cheek,  "  on'y  it  makes 
father  swearin'  mad  'cause  I  can't  git  the  right 
foot  forrid  fust,  which  it 's  allers  the  left,  he  says, 
an'  I  don't  see  how  on  airth  you  're  goin'  tu,  er- 
less  ye  take  kinder  of  a  half  hitch,  hipperty  hop." 

"  Wai,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  "  there  's  bubby,  an' 
the  women  folks,  an'  me  an'  Drive  hain't  got  tu 
train,  hev  we,  bubby?  Ah!  see  here,  daddy's 
man,  le'  's  go  fin'  aout  what 's  in  Uncle  Lisher's 
kut-tail  pocket.  It  felt  julluk  a  sugar  plum 
a-timkin'  ag'in'  the  calf  o'  my  laig  all  the  way 
hum." 

With  the  little  boy  holding  on  to  his  tan-stained 
forefinger  with  one  dimpled  fist  and  leading  the 
sad-faced  hound  by  the  ear  with  the  other,  he 
went  over  to  where  the  blue  coat  was  hanging  on 
the  wall. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE  END   OF   A   JOURNEY. 

THE  uneventful  summer  passed,  marking  its 
almost  imperceptible  changes  by  the  withering  of 
one  flower  and  the  blooming  of  another ;  the 
growth  of  grain  and  grass,  their  ripening  and 
cutting  down,  the  slow  stoop  of  fruitful  branches 
under  their  increasing  burden,  the  song  and  si 
lence  of  birds,  and  the  stealthy  southward  march 
of  sunrise  and  sunset  along  the  mountain  crests. 
And  lo,  it  was  fall  with  no  bloom  but  the  golden- 
rod  and  asters,  with  the  red  flame  of  the  sumac 
kindled  in  mimicry  of  bloom. 

Bobolinks,  swallows,  and  orioles  were  gone,  and 
but  now  and  then  some  remaining  singer  remem 
bered  or  sang  his  summer  song,  and  the  crickets 
chirped  with  fainter  monotony  in  the  chill  even 
ings. 

The  calls  of  migrant  birds  came  out  of  the 
gloom  from  afar  and  near,  and  afar  again  while 
the  listener  wondered  what  they  were.  After  a 
day  portentous  of  storm,  with  gathering  clouds 
and  steadily  increasing  wind,  there  came  a  wild 
night. 


284  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

Afar  among  the  desolate  mountain  peaks,  the 
wind  roared  with  sullen,  incessant  anger,  inter 
mittently  heard  between  the  surging  blasts  that 
swooped  upon  the  valley  and  drove  the  rain  in  a 
fierce,  assaulting  slant,  with  attending  wraiths  of 
flying  scud. 

The  jaded  horses  of  the  mail  wagon  splashed 
wearily  through  the  puddles  whose  agitated  sur 
faces  glittered  dimly  in  the  light  of  the  mud  be 
spattered  lantern,  and  halted  in  front  of  the  post 
office.  A  wind-tossed  shout  of  the  mail  driver, 
and  the  thud  and  clank  of  the  mail  bag  on  the 
wet  platform,  at  once  brought  forth  the  alert, 
bareheaded  postmaster,  to  whom  was  vaguely  re 
vealed  by  the  bolt  of  light  shot  through  the  open 
door  a  forlorn,  bedraggled  figure  crouching  be 
side  the  driver.  Clapham  strove  to  make  it  more 
distinct  with  a  shading  hand,  but  could  not  guess 
even  at  the  sex  of  the  muffled  form  until  a  wet 
ribbon  fluttered  and  snapped  about  the  head. 
Then  the  wagon  moved  on  with  its  feeble  light 
struggling  through  the  storm  and  darkness. 

"  Jim 's  got  him  a  passenger,"  he  announced  to 
the  only  visitor  whom  the  arrival  of  the  semi- 
weekly  mail  had  yet  tempted  forth  in  such 
weather.  "  An'  it's  a  womern.  I  can't  e-ma 
gine,"  he  pondered  with  hovering  hands  arrested 
over  the  fastenings  of  the  mail  bag  and  eyes  star 
ing  into  space,  "  what  womern  is  a-traveling  sech 


THE  END  OF  A  JOURNEY.  285 

a  night.  I  '11  bet  a  cent  I  know.  It 's  that 
Meeker  gal  that 's  ben  tu  work  in  a  fact'ry  'way 
daown  in  Massachusetts.  Yis,  sir,  that 's  jest  ex 
actly  who  't  is ;  "  and  chuckling  over  his  sagacity 
he  began  to  undo  the  straps,  and  his  visitor,  wait 
ing  for  his  paper,  thought  "  like  'nough "  as  he 
lounged  over  to  witness  the  always  interesting 
operation. 

The  changes  of  the  season  were  but  dully  noted 
by  Pelatiah.  He  was  sorry  when  the  fishing  days 
were  ended,  for  they  had  brought  him  some  con 
solation  for  a  bereavement  crueller  than  death,  if 
not  forgetfulness  of  his  faithless  sweatheart,  the 
gleam  of  whose  bright  eyes  flashed  up  at  him 
from  the  evanescent  bubbles,  now  mocking,  now 
piteously  pleading,  and  whose  voice  called  to  him, 
far  and  elusive,  in  the  many  voices  of  the  woods. 
He  had  come  to  think  without  resentment  of  the 
girl  who  had  won  his  heart  but  to  rend  it,  remem 
bering  faults  but  to  study  apologies  for  them,  and 
cherishing  with  fondest  memory  all  that  was  best 
in  her,  the  best,  he  was  sure,  that  was  possessed 
by  any  woman.  Yes,  she  was  dead  to  him,  and 
he  could  never  be  fooled  or  happy  again. 

He  found  some  solace  in  dogged,  steady  work, 
yet  while  his  hands  mechanically  dug  potatoes, 
husked  corn,  held  the  plough,  or  wielded  the  axe, 
his  thoughts  were  continually  straying  back  into 
the  old  wearisome  paths. 


286  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

The  early  fall  had  brought  its  ordinary  sport. 
There  had  already  been  coon-hunting  in  the  corn 
fields,  but  the  shouting  rabble  of  men  and  boys, 
the  yelping  pack  of  dogs  of  all  breeds,  and  the 
wild  uproar  of  the  closing  scene  when  the  dis 
lodged  coon  fought  to  the  last  gasp  against  the 
relentless  host  of  enemies,  constituted  sport  little 
to  his  liking.  There  were  plenty  of  squirrels 
barking  and  squalling  in  the  nut-trees,  and  wild 
pigeons  gleaning  the  grain  fields ;  and  partridges 
were  well  grown.  That  very  afternoon,  as  he 
drove  the  cows  up  from  the  back  side  of  the  pas 
ture  and  passed  a  clump  of  elder,  the  berry-laden 
tops  were  rent  apart  as  by  a  sudden  explosion, 
and  half  a  dozen  strong-winged  birds  burst  forth 
and  shot  in  long  curves  toward  the  woods. 

Such  sports  seemed  trivial,  but  better  was  at 
hand  when  in  the  frost-silvered  dawn  he  and  Sam 
would  be  afield  waiting  for  Drive's  whimpered 
prelude  to  burst  into  melody,  signaling  them  to 
make  all  speed  to  their  runways. 

He  was  thinking  of  this  as  he  moved  uneasily 
about  the  kitchen,  waiting  for  a  lull  in  the  wild 
weather  that  he  might  go  up  to  Sam's  and  plan  a 
fox  hunt  for  the  quiet  day  which  was  sure  to  fol 
low  the  storm.  Now  he  let  in  a  rainy  gust  at  the 
narrowly  opened  door,  now  he  peered  into  the 
blankness  through  the  beaten  panes.  He  watched 
with  dull  interest  the  flickering  lantern  of  the 


THE  END  OF  A  JOUENEY.  287 

mail  wagon  struggling  against  the  wind  and  rain. 
With  as  little  interest,  though  it  reached  out 
toward  him  in  shivering  reflections  across  the 
ruffled,  rain-pelted  pools  of  the  road,  he  saw  it 
stop  at  Clapham's  to  drop  the  mail  bag  that 
brought  him  no  more  letters. 

He  turned  wearily  away,  and  said  to  his 
mother :  - 

"  I  b'lieve  I  '11  gwup  tu  Samwill's  a  spell ; "  and 
took  his  hat  and  coat  from  their  peg. 

u  Why,  Peltier  Gove,"  she  exclaimed,  dropping 
her  hands  and  the  stocking  she  was  darning  into 
her  lap  together,  while  the  ball  of  yarn  fell  un 
noticed  to  become  the  plaything  of  the  kitten. 
"  You  '11  git  soppin'  wet  an'  ketch  your  death 
cold,  an'  it 's  darker  'n  Egypt." 

"  It  don't  rain  sca'cely  a  mite  naow,  an'  I 
wanter  see  Samwill  pertic'ler." 

His  mother  arose  and  went  to  him,  laying 
a  gentle  hand  on  his  arm  as  she  said  in  a  low, 
beseeching  voice :  — 

"  You  hain't  a-goin'  tu  Hamner's,  be  ye,  Pel 
tier?" 

"No,  marm,  I  hain't.  I  don't  go  there  no 
more,"  he  answered,  with  a  decision  that  was  con 
vincing. 

"  Anyb'dy  'at 's  got  a  ruff  over  'em  an'  do* 
know  'nough  tu  stay  'n  under  it  sech  a  night, 
ortu  be  put  in  the  'Sylum,"  his  father  said,  shut- 


288  DslNVIS  FOLKS. 

ting  the  stove  hearth  with  a  spiteful  kick  of  his 
stockinged  feet. 

His  sister,  casting  a  scornful  glance  at  him 
from  her  hem-stitching,  said  witheringly,  "  Lordy ! 
I  hope  tu  goodness,  I  shan't  never  git  in  love 
ef  it 's  got  tu  make  fools  o'  folks !  " 

Pelatiah  looked  reproachfully  at  her  and  went 
out,  only  saying  to  himself,  "  I  hope  tu  the  Lord 
you  never  will,  Alviry." 

More  than  a  lack  of  sympathy  and  the  impa 
tience  with  his  melancholy  evinced  by  all  the 
family  save  his  mother,  a  desire  to  be  out  in  the 
wildness  of  the  night  impelled  him  to  go  forth. 
The  raging  elements  gave  him  something  to  fight 
against,  and  he  felt  a  kind  of  purposeless  heroism 
in  breasting  the  fierce  buffets  of  the  wind  and  the 
pelting  rain. 

As  he  struggled  forward  toward  the  road,  bend 
ing  against  the  furious  blasts,  he  ran  against  some 
one,  and  both  were  brought  to  a  sudden  stand. 

"  Ooogh,"  gasped  a  boyish  voice.  "  Is  that  you, 
Peltier  ?  I  was  a-comin'  arter  you.  The'  's  some- 
b'dy  tu  Hamner's  wants  to  see  ye,  right  off.  My  I 
Ef  you  did  n't  skeer  me  !  " 

The  words  were  whisked  away  by  the  wind, 
but  not  till  Pelatiah  had  caught  them  all. 

"  Someb'dy  wants  tu  see  me  tu  Hamner's  ? 
Well,  they  won't,  thet  's  all !  I  hain't  a-goiu'  nigh 
Hamner's  fer  nob'dy,  Billy  Wiggins." 


THE  END  OF  A  JOURNEY.  289 

"  But  ye  got  tu,"  the  boy  shouted  up  to  him. 
*'  They  said  you  must,  Hamner  an'  ol'  Kezier." 

"But  I  won't,"  persisted  Pelatiah  stoutly. 
«  Who  is  't  ?  That  feller  'at  buys  fur  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do'  know  who  't  is,  but  you  got  tu  come. 
Both  on  'em  said  so.  It 's  life  er  death,  they 
said,  both  on  'em,  Kezier  in  partic'ler.  I  would  n't 
go  back  alone  fer  one  dollar !  "  and  Billy  clutched 
at  Pelatiah' s  fluttering  coat  skirts  and  tugged  to 
ward  the  road. 

A  strange  presentiment  flashed  upon  Pelatiah's 
brain  and  his  heart  choked.  Life  or  death  !  He 
remembered  his  promise  to  his  mother  and  was 
ready  to  break  it,  and,  taking  the  boy's  hand  in 
his,  they  went  down  the  road,  struggling  against 
the  surges  of  the  wind. 

Their  way  was  less  obscure  when  the  lights  of 
the  stores  and  tavern  fell  across  the  ruts  and 
puddles,  quivering  as  if  the  feeble  rays  trembled 
in  the  wind.  Beyond,  the  broader,  ruddier  glow 
of  the  forge  banded  the  road,  pulsing  with  every 
throb  of  the  hammer,  whose  thundering  beats 
were  always  heard,  now  rising  above  the  lulls  of 
gusty  uproar,  now  dully  accentuating  the  fiercer 
blasts. 

"  Haow  come  you  daown  tu  the  village  sech  a 
night  ?  "  Pelatiah  asked  suddenly. 

"  Why,  hain't  you  heard  ?  I  've  hired  aout  tu 
Hamner,"  Billy  asked,  resentful  of  such  ignorancec 


290  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  You  bed  n't  orter.  'T  ain't  no  place  f er  a 
boy,  an'  your  mother  needs  ye  tu  hum." 

"  She  was  willin'.  An'  I  c'n  be  airnin'  suthin*. 
She  's  got  real  tough,  naow,  an'  I  go  hum  oncte  a 
week  an'  chop  wood  an'  tinker  up." 

At  Hamner's  they  entered  a  dark  passage 
through  a  side  door  and  groped  their  way  up  a 
flight  of  stairs.  Beaconed  by  the  light  shed 
through  cracked  and  shrunken  panels,  they  came 
to  the  poorest  chamber  in  the  tavern.  Hamner  had 
evidently  shrewdly  classified  the  quality  of  his 
guest.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  bent  old  wo 
man,  who,  after  assuring  herself  of  Pelatiah's 
identity  by  a  brief,  keen  glance,  admitted  him, 
but  unceremoniously  excluded  Billy,  to  the  disap 
pointment  of  his  boyish  curiosity. 

"  She  'pears  tu  be  asleep  naow,"  the  old  woman 
whispered,  peering  over  the  candle  that  she  shaded 
with  her  hand  at  the  motionless  form  on  the  bed. 
"  She  's  a  dreffle  sick  gal.  Hamner  was  afeerd 
she  was  a-goin'  tu  die  right  on  his  hands,  an'  he 
hustled  right  off  arter  the  darkter,  an'  he  come 
an'  gin  her  sutliin'  that  sot  her  tu  sleep.  I  don't 
b'lieve  he  thinks  she  's  goin'  tu  live,  fer  he  did  n't 
say  nothin',  only  sythed  arter  he  'd  pulted  her,  an' 
ast  tew  three  questions,  an'  said  her  fowlks  had 
Drter  be  sent  fer,  an'  she  said  she  did  n't  want  tu 
see  nob'dy,  on'y  you." 

The  old  woman  cautiously  uncovered  the  candle 


THE  END  OF  A  JOUENEY.  291 

and  let  its  light  fall  for  a  moment  on  the  haggard, 
fevered  face  that  lay  among  a  confusion  of  tangled 
golden  hair  on  the  lank  pillow.  Pelatiah's  pre 
sentiment  was  verified,  and  it  was  not  the  sur 
prise  of  recognition  that  made  him  start,  but  the 
woeful  change  grief  and  despair  and  sickness  had 
wrought  in  the  face. 

"  Is  she  some  o'  your  fowlks  ?  I  sh'ld  a'mos' 
thought  yer  mother  'd  ha'  come  ef  she  was,"  the 
old  woman  whispered  in  a  hoarse,  monotonous 
buzz. 

Pelatiah  shook  his  head  and  she  leered  at  him 
with  a  ghastly  grin  that  revealed  one  yellow  tooth, 
the  sole  survivor  of  the  white  rows  that  youthful 
smiles  long  ago  disclosed.  There  was  a  terrible 
revelation  in  that  wrinkled  visage  of  the  old  age 
that  a  sinful  life  brings  one  to,  and  he  was  thank 
ful  it  was  in  the  power  of  death  to  forestall  it. 

"  Ooh,  yer  gal,  eh  ?  Wai,  Jake  's  goin'  tu  see 
the  s'lec'men,  er  the  poormaster,  an'  hev  her  took 
keer  on." 

Pelatiah  started.  "You  go  an'  tell  him  the' 
hain't  no  need  on  't.  I  '11  take  keer  on  her.  She 
hain't  goin'  tu  be  no  taown  charge !  " 

"  I  never  hed  no  idee  you  was  sech  a  lively 
young  feller,"  said  Keziah,  leering  at  him  with  an 
admiration  that  filled  him  with  disgust. 

"  Go  quick  !     I  '11  stay  with  her." 

He  placed  a  chair  softly  beside  the  bed  and  sat 


292  DsLNVIS  FOLKS. 

down,  as  the  old  woman  left  the  room.  The  girl 
moaned,  moved  uneasily,  and  opened  her  eyes, 
looking  wildly  about  till  they  rested  on  Pelatiah, 
and  then  a  look  of  gratitude  lighted  them. 

"  I  was  'feared  you  would  n't  come.  I  hed  n't 
no  right  to  ask  you,  but  I  coidd  n't  help  it,"  she 
said,  in  a  thin,  weak  voice.  "  I  hain't  got  a 
friend  on  airth  —  not  one,  not  one,"  and  her  pit 
eous  voice  broke  with  a  sob  before  she  answered 
his  questioning,  puzzled  gaze.  "  No,  he  never 
married  me.  He  went  off  an'  lef  me.  I  must 
tell  ye  quick,  fer  it  seems  as  though  I  was  goin' 
away  somewheres,  right  off ;  an'  when  I  went 
hum  my  folks  turned  me  aou'  door,  an'  I  went  tu 
work  aout,  where  they  did  n't  know  me,  an'  I  took 
sick,  an'  they  woidd  n't  keep  me  no  longer,  an'  I 
come  here.  It  seemed  as  'ough  I  'd  got  tu  see  ye 
once  more,  an'  tell  ye  I  'm  sorry  I  was  so  mean 
to  ye.  You  can't  never  forgive  me,  but  I  wish  't 
you  would  n't  hate  me." 

"  I  never  hated  ye  one  minute,  Lowizy,"  he 
spoke  in  a  choked  voice,  and  then,  after  a  con 
scientious  questioning  of  his  heart,  "an'  I  du 
forgive  ye.  Mebby  you  've  bore  more  'n  I 
hev."  • 

"  Thank  ye,  Pelatiah.  PC  ye  willin'  tu  take  a 
holt  o'  my  hand  ? "  she  asked  timidly,  and  for 
answer  he  clasped  tenderly  in  his  rough  palm  the 
thin,  hot  hand  that  was  feebly  stretched  out  to 


THE  END  OF  A  JOURNEY.  293 

him.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  sighed  restfully, 
then,  after  a  while,  asked  :  — 

"  Why,  it  ain't  June,  is  it  ?  Seems  'ough  I 
heard  the  birds  singin'  and  smelt  the  young  come- 
ups.  It 's  time  I  was  a-goin'.  Good-by,  Peltier." 
The  feeble  tension  of  the  little  hand  relaxed  in 
his,  her  last  breath  fluttered  out  upon  his  cheek, 
and  the  poor  fickle  heart  grew  still  forever. 

"  Is  she  sleepin*  yit  ?  "  old  Keziah  whispered, 
entering  on  tip-toe  and  exhaling  an  odor  of  strong 
waters. 

"  You  need  n't  be  af  eered  o'  wakin'  her  no 
more,"  Pelatiah  answered  solemnly. 

"  Good  land  o'  livin' !  "  she  gasped  in  an  awed 
voice.  "  You  don't  say  she  's  dead  ?  "  and  then, 
after  assuring  herself  by  a  look  and  touch,  "  Poor 
little  creetur !  It 's  tumble  to  be  took  so  young." 

"  I  don't  b'lieve  't  is,  not  allers.  Is  Jake  up  ? 
I  wanter  see  him."  As  he  groped  his  way  down 
the  narrow  stairs,  it  seemed  as  if  years  had  passed 
since  he  climbed  them. 

The  storm  spent  itself  in  the  night,  and  the 
morning  broke  on  a  peaceful  world.  As  peaceful 
under  the  white  veil  of  the  dread  mystery  into 
which  she  had  passed  after  the  storm  of  life  was 
the  face  of  the  dead  girl.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
gone  forth  into  the  unfathomed  hereafter,  as  well 
assured  of  forgiveness  there  as  here. 

Attended  by  a  few  sympathizing  friends,  Pela- 


294  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

tiah  laid  his  dead,  now  wholly  his,  to  rest  in  the 
shadow  of  the  flaming  sumacs  in  the  old  grave 
yard  on  the  hillside.  There  was  no  service  but 
the  brief  testimony  of  Joel  Bartlett,  who  felt 
moved  to  say :  — 

"  Inasmuch  as  we  hev  ben  told  by  One  formerly 
that  aour  Heavenly  Father  does  temper  the  wind 
tu  the  shorn  lamb,  I  feel  it  bore  in  upon  me  that 
this  poor  leetle  lamb,  which  may  hev  strayed  fur 
f'm  the  flock,  is  gethered  tu  the  fold  by  the  Good 
Shepherd." 

Unseen  by  any  but  Pelatiah,  Huldah  covertly 
dropped  a  spray  of  pale  asters  into  the  open 
grave.  As  the  careless  clods  began  to  fall  with 
muffled  thuds  on  the  straw-covered  coffin,  the  little 
company  silently  dispersed. 

"  It  kinder  seems  'ough  Peltier  felt  wus  'n  the' 
was  any  need  o'  his  feelin',  considering  but  mebby 
he  don't,  I  d'  know,"  Joseph  Hill  remarked  to 
Antoine  as  they  lingered  last  at  the  graveyard 
gate. 

"  If  you  '11  seen  dat  gal  w'en  she  was  'live  an' 
fat  an'  jes'  good  as  anybody  gal,  you  '11  ant  blem 
Peltiet  fer  cried." 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

A   GATHERING   CLOUD. 

THE  continual  roar  of  the  November  wind  on 
the  mountains  was  at  times  overborne  by  the 
nearer  uproar  of  blasts  that  swooped  upon  the 
valley,  screeching  through  the  withered  herbage, 
clashing  the  naked  branches  and  driving  the 
fallen  leaves  in  sudden  scurries  against  the  low 
window  of  the  lean-to. 

But  if  the  outer  world  was  cheerless  the  shop 
was  cosy,  and  Uncle  Lisha  and  Sam  were  enjoy 
ing  its  comfort  over  their  pipes  and  the  affairs 
of  their  absent  friends.  At  times  the  draughty 
little  stove  ceased  its  fluttering  monotone,  as  if 
holding  its  breath  to  listen  to  the  conversation. 
Then  it  resumed  its  roar  as  if  the  subject  was  too 
trivial  for  its  attention. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sam,  "  Peltier 's  pooty  sober,  but 
he  'pears  tu  be  kinder  settled  daown,  an'  not 
narvous  ner  off  in  a  dream  as  he  was.  Why 
he  'd  hev  spells  last  year  'at  he  'd  stan'  a-gawpin* 
off  int'  the  air,  at  nothin'  anybody  else  could  see: 
an'  let  a  fox  go  skippin'  by  him  wi'aout  seem' 
the  critter  ner  takin'  no  notice  till  Drive  come  on 


296  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

his  track  an'  looked  wonclerin'  as  if  askin',  4  Why 
in  time  did  n't  you  shoot  ? '  Oncte  he  let  a  sil 
ver  gray  go  by  him  jest  that  way.  That  r'aly 
tried  my  patience,  fer  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  ha' 
cured  a  feller  of  most  anythin'  tu  ha'  shot  that 
fox.  Then  ag'in,  he  'd  be  all  in  a  whew,  an' 
blaze  away  wi'aout  takin'  no  sight  at  nothin'. 
But  he 's  carni  as  a  eight-day  clock  this  fall,  an* 
hain't  let  a  fox  go  by  yet,  ner  missed  ary  one." 

"  I  cal'late  he  '11  be  all  right  when  fishin'  time 
comes  raound  ag'in,"  said  Uncle  Lisha,  splashing 
an  obdurate  tap  in  the  tub  and  then  bending  it 
back  and  forth  with  impatient  jerks.  "  Good 
airth  an'  seas.  I  b'lieve  that  aire  so'luther  must 
ha'  come  off  'm  an  off  ox,  it 's  so  dumbd  cont'ry." 

"  It  jes'  as  likel'  he  come  off  caow,  prob'ly," 
said  Antoine,  catching  the  last  remark  as  he  en 
tered  the  shop  and  took  his  favorite  seat.  "  All  '11 
have  see  caow  was  more  wus  fer  do  he  '11  man' 
to,  as  hoxens,  jes'  sem'  as  hwomans  was,"  and  he 
crowded  the  tobacco  down  in  his  pipe  and  drew 
his  crossed  legs  closer  under  him. 

"  Hwomans  was  funny  kan  o'  peoples,  an'  so 
was  mans,  prob'ly.  Ah '11  b'lieve  more  as  half 
de  tarn  de  fun  ant  pay  fer  de  troublesome  fer  get 
marry.  Folkses  had  more  good  tarn  fer  be  hoi' 
bachely  an'  hoi'  gal.  Ah  do'  know  if  Peltiet  ant 
lucky  for  ant  gat  marry,  prob'ly." 

"  Sho,    Ann     Twine,    you  've    took    twicte    as 


A  GATHERING  CLOUD.  297 

much  geniwine  cdmfort  as  ye  would  ef  you  'd  ben 
a-shoolin'  'raound  julluk  a  lunsome  garnder  all 
yer  days,  an'  so  hev  I,  along  wi'  my  ol'  goose,  an' 
so  's  Sam,  tew,  a-hevin'.  One  tech  o'  that  leetle 
goslin'  o'  hisen,  a-snugglin'  up  tu  him,  is  wuth 
more  'n  ten  year  o'  his  ol'  wil*  goosin.  Haint  it, 
Samwill?" 

Sam  nodded  a  hearty  affirmative.  He  could 
hear  the  slow  rock  of  a  cradle  in  the  next  room 
above  the  subdued  voices  of  the  old  wife  and  the 
young,  and  the  occasional  responses  of  his  father, 
who  preferred  the  amiable  converse  of  these  two 
women  to  the  babble  of  the  men. 

"  The  trouble  is,"  Uncle  Lisha  went  on,  "  folks 
gits  merried  tew  young,  'fore  they  r'aly  know 
what  they  want>  an'  bimeby  wake  up  an'  fin'  they 
got  what  they  don't  want,  an'  then  they  jest  set 
the'  sharp  aidges  tow-ards  one  'nother  the  hull 
endurin'  time." 

"It  ant  gat  no  diffrunce,"  Antoine  protested. 
"  Wen  Ah  '11  was  marree,  Ah  '11  was  heighteen, 
an'  Ursule  was  feef teen,  an'  we  '11  ant  quarrly 
honly  fer  made  up  ag'in.  Mebby  some  tarn 
Ah  '11  had  fer  slap  it  leetly  mite,  but  we  '11  be  all 
raght  pooty  quick.  Wai,  seh,  One'  Lasha,  der 
was  hoi'  man  an'  hoi'  hwomans  in  Canada  gat 
marree  togedder  w'en  dey  was  hoi'  an'  in  t'ree 
day  dey  was  set  heat  dinny,  an'  leetly  maouse 
run  on  de  haouse,  an'  hoi'  hwomans  say,  '  See  dat 


298  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

maouse.'  Hoi'  mans  say,  4  It  was  rats,'  an1  hoi 
hwomans  say,  *  No,  it  was  maouse.'  4Ah  toF 
you  it  was  rats,'  he  '11  said.  4  Maouse,'  she  '11 
said,  an'  dey  holler  4  Rat,'  4  Maouse,'  an'  get  so 
mad  he'll  go  'way  an'  stay  t'ree  year.  Den 
he  '11  come  back,  an'  she  '11  was  veree  glad  f  er 
see  it.  '  It  was  too  bad  you  '11  go  'way  so,  jes' 
for  leetly  maouse.'  4  Ant  Ah  '11  tol'  you  it  was 
rats  ? '  he  '11  holler,  and  he  '11  go,  an'  never  come 
some  more.  What  you  tink  f  er  hoF  folkses  naow, 
Onc'Lisha?" 

"  Yis,  the'  's  oF  fools  as  well  as  young  fools,  an' 
it 's  hard  tellin'  which  is  the  biggest.  But  I  've 
hearn  tell  o'  tew  oF  critters  'at  got  sot  aidgeways 
an'  come  aout  better  'n  you  tell  on.  They'd 
lived  together  thirty  year,  but  bimeby  they  fell 
aout,  an'  they  'd  mump  raound  all  day  'thaout 
speakin',  an'  when  it  come  night  they  'd  turn  the' 
backs  tow-ards  one  other  an'  snore,  an'  purtend  tu 
be  asleep,  each  one  wishin'  't  t'  other  'd  speak,  but 
nary  one  wouldn't  fust.  An'  so  it  run  on  till 
one  night  in  the  fall  o'  the  year  they  heered  a 
turrible  rumpus  'mongst  the  sheep  in  the  yard, 
an'  he  ups  an'  dresses  him  an'  goes  aout.  Arter 
quite  a  spell,  an'  he  did  n't  come  back,  she  slips 
on  her  gaownd  an'  shoes  an'  aout  she  goes  tu  see 
what 's  the  matter  ailded  him,  an'  lo  an'  behol', 
he  was  clinched  in  with  an  almighty  gret  bear, 
the  bear  a-chawin'  at  him  an'  him  a-huggin'  as 


A  GATHERING  CLOUD.  299 

hard  as  the  bear  tu  keep  him  f 'm  gittin'  his  hind 
claws  intu  his  in'ards,  which  is  onpleasant,  as  I 
know.  4  Go  it,  ol'  man,  go  it,  bear,'  says  she, 
4  it 's  the  fust  fight  ever  I  see  'at  I  did  n't  keer 
which  licked.' 

"  She  stood  lookin'  on  a  leetle  spell,  with  her 
fists  on  her  hips,  till  she  see  the  ol'  man  was 
a-gittin'  tuckered,  an'  the  bear  a-hevin'  the  best 
on  't,  an'  then  she  up  with  a  sled  stake  an'  gin 
the  bear  a  wollop  on  the  head  't  knocked  him 
stiffer'n  a  last,  and  then  they  hed  a  huggin' 
match  over  the  carkis  of  the  bear,  an'  lived  tu- 
gether  as  folks  ortu,  tu  the  eend  of  the'  days." 

With  a  briefly  admitted  blast  of  the  wind,  Solon 
and  Pelatiah  entered  the  shop.  After  the  usual 
comments  on  the  weather  had  been  exchanged 
Pelatiah  asked,  "  Has  any  on  ye  seen  them  fellers 
'at 's  ben  puttin'  vip  tu  Hamner's  these  tew  three 
days  ?  "  All  ears  were  pricked  up,  for  it  was  a 
rare  event  for  Hamner  to  have  guests  of  such  long 
standing. 

"  T'ree  four  day  ?  "  cried  Antoine  in  interroga 
tive  incredulity ;  "  what  kan  o'  folks  you  '11  s'pose 
dey  was  put  uppin  so  long  for  heat  hees  codfeesh 
an'  cookhover  pettetoe  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  ;  I  hain't  heerd  on  'em,"  Uncle  Lisha 
confessed,  listening  attentively,  though  he  made 
a  show  of  attending  to  his  work  while  he  awaited 
an  answer  to  the  question,  "  Who  be  they,  Pel 
tier?" 


300  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  That 's  more  'n  I  c'n  tell  ye  fer  all  I  Ve  seen 
'em  more  'n  oncte.  One  on  'em 's  a  kinder  starved 
lookin',  dreamin'  ol'  critter  'at  wears  specs  an' 
black  clo's,  —  wal,  looks  like  a  minister  'at 's  lost 
his  sheep  an'  hed  n't  got  so  much  as  the  tag-locks 
fer  tendin'  on  'em  afore  he  did  lose  'em.  An* 
the'  's  another  feller  'at  looks  nigh  abaout  as  hun 
gry,  but  not  so  pious.  Seems  's  'ough  I  'd  seen 
him  'raoun'  afore  a  diggin'  gingshang  rhut.  But 
t'  other  one 's  a  all-fired  cute  lookin'  chap,  look  's 
if  he  lived  off'm  the  top  shelf  ev'ry  day  an'  wears 
han'some  clo's  off  intu  the  woods  an'  a  goold  chain 
tu  his  watch  an'  don't  smoke  iiothin'  but  seegars. 
I  heard  Hamner  call  him  Colonel  Ketchum." 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  ef  he  's  'raoun',  there  's 
some  speckerlatin'  goin'  on  some'rs." 

"  What  seems  tu  be  their  ospensible  ockerpa- 
tion,  that  is,  what  be  they  duin'  on  ?  " 

"  I  hearn  'em  tellin'  over  tu  the  store  'at  they 
're  gee-ologists  er  haw-ologists  er  some  sech  ox- 
teamin'  name,  an'  the  leegislatur  sent  'em  aout  tu 
see  what  kinder  faoundations  the  state  is  sot  on, 
tu  know  whether  no  it 's  likely  tu  stan'.  Some 
thinks  that 's  only  foolin'  an'  they  're  jest  a  party 
o'  counterfeiters,  an'  some  thinks  they  're  a-spyin' 
raoun'  arter  runaway  niggers  'at  they  'spect  Joel 
Bartlett  's  got  hid.  They  was  up  tu  Joel's  pur- 
tendin'  tu  s'arch  the  taown  records,  an'  some  thinks 
they  're  on'y  lookin'  fer  a  place  tu  hoi'  camp-nieetin', 


A  GATHERING  CLOUD.  301 

but  ef  they  was,  they  wouldn't  be  a  stayin'  tu 
Hamner's,  they  'd  put  up  tu  Elder  Foote's.  Any 
ways  they're  pokin'  raoun'  in  the  woods  wi'  a 
hammer  an'  spade  an'  pick.  It's  cur'us,  any 
ways." 

"  I  guess  they  won't  kerry  no  niggers  aouten 
Danvis  if  they  fin'  'em,"  said  Sam,  "  but  I  p'sume 
likely  they  're  some  speckerlatin'  critters." 

"  Who  knows  but  what  they  're  lookin'  arter 
the  ol'  Injin  lead  mind  'at  folks  useter  tell  on," 
Uncle  Lisha  suggested.  "  They  said  the'  was  a 
ol'  Injin  useter  come  oncte  a  year  an'  go  up  ont' 
the  maountain  some  'eres  an'  git  all  the  lead  he 
could  lug.  They  watched  him  an'  follered  him, 
but  they  could  n't  never  find  aout  where  he  got 
it." 

"  I  '11  bet  ye  a  dollar  they  're  huntin'  f er  aour 
money,"  Solon  whispered  nervously  to  Antoine. 
"  Ef  they  be,  I  hope  that  ol'  bear  '11  oncaounter 
'em ;  "  and  then  added  aloud,  "  It  would  n't  s'prise 
me  none  ef  they  was  accomplishes  o'  that  aire 
Bascom,  a-connivin'  in  his  nufarious  tricks." 

44  Why  they  hain't  been  a-nigh  him  as  anybody 
knows  on,"  said  Pelatiah. 

"Wai,"  Uncle  Lisha  said,  applying  himself 
more  diligently  to  his  work,  "  whatever  they  're 
up  tu,  I  don't  s'pose  they'll  du  none  on  us  no 
good.  But  what 's  this  I  hear  'em  telliii'  'baout 
that  aire  Bascom  goin'  to  marry  Square  Need* 


302  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

ham's  wiclder  ?     She 's  rich,  I  s'pose.     Got  taller 
'nough  aouten  the  ol'  ox  tu  buy  her  a  steer." 

"Ah '11  guess  he'll  marree  it  if  he'll  could, 
prob'ly.  What  ail  dat  Bascoms?  He'll  borry 
money  of  ev'ree  bodee,  an'  dey  say  dey  can'  any 
body  gat  hees  pay,  honly  promise,  promise,  nex' 
week,  nex'  week." 

"  I  'm  glad  he  's  in  the  same  fix  I  be,"  said  the 
old  man.  "  He  hain't  got  none  o'  my  money,  ner 
I  hain't  nuther." 

"  An'  dey  say  folks  was  hear  loaded  team  goin' 
'way  from  de  store  in  de  naght,  an'  dey  t'ink  he  '11 
carry  hees  good." 

"Sho!  You  don't  say?  Wai,  I'm  afeered 
he 's  a  tough  cud  fer  someb'dy  to  chaw,  I  r'aly  be, 
an'  a  tumble  nice-spoken,  candid-appearin'  feller 
he  is,  tew." 

Sam  arose,  went  to  the  door,  and  looked  out 
into  the  gusty  night,  and  retired  to  the  kitchen. 
He  bent  for  a  long  time  over  his  boy  sleeping  in 
the  cradle  where  Huldah,  sitting  sewing  at  the 
table  corner,  coidd  jog  it  with  her  foot.  Then 
he  cast  a  troubled  glance  upon  his  wife  and  Aunt 
Jerusha  at  her  knitting,  and  at  his  father  nod 
ding  over  the  braided  husks  coiled  in  many  con 
volutions  about  his  legs  and  on  the  floor.  Then 
he  sat  down  in  moody  silence  to  whittle  the  morn 
ing's  kindlings. 

"You'll  ant  s'pose  prob'ly  Sam  was  lend  it 
money,  ant  it  ?  "  Antoine  whispered. 


A  GATHERING  CLOUD.  303 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  no,"  said  Uncle  Lisha, 
in  a  voice  as  guarded  as  its  emphasis  would  allow. 
"  Samwill  hain't  no  money  tu  lend,  but  he  's  allers 
took  oiiaccountable  tu  that  aire  Bascom,  an'  he 
can't  abear  tu  hear  a  word  ag'in'  him.  There, 
that  tarnal  tap  is  on  at  last,  an'  it's  hopesin'  it 
won't  make  the  man  'at  wears  it  go  the  way  he 
don't  wanter.  It 's  contr'y  'nough  tu." 

He  loosened  his  foot  and  the  boot  from  the 
strap  that  held  it  to  his  lap,  and,  rising  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  began  to  untie  his  apron,  a  hint 
that  hastened  the  departure  of  his  guests. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

DARK    DAYS. 

SAM'S  chores  were  done  betimes  next  morning 
and  his  breakfast  was  hardly  eaten,  when  he  an 
nounced  an  abrupt  departure  by  saying  that  he 
had  an  errand  at  the  village. 

"What  be  you  in  sech  a  tew  for?"  Huldah 
asked.  "  You  hain't  aout  o'  terbacker,  I  know, 
fer  the'  's  nigh  a  paper  full  in  the  sullerway,  an'  it 
hain't  a  week  sence  you  got  a  paoimd  o'  paowder 
an'  four  paounds  o'  shot."  She  could  think  of 
no  possible  errands  that  demanded  such  immediate 
attention.  She  followed  Sam  to  the  door  and 
laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "  What  is 't  Sam  ? 
The'  's  suthin'  a-pesterin'  on  ye,  I  know  by  your 
looks.  Why  don't  you  tell  what  't  is  ?  Hain't 
your  wife  the  one  you  'd  orter  tell  your  troubles 
tu?" 

"  No  man  ever  had  a  better  one,"  he  said  ear 
nestly.  "  It  hain't  nothin'  much.  Don't  you 
cross  no  bridges  till  ye  come  tu  'em,  Huldy,"  and 
he  hurried  away  at  as  swift  a  pace  as  ever  took 
him  to  a  runway,  barring  the  exigencies  that  de 
manded  running.  He  wished  it  was  night  that 


DARK  DAYS.  305 

he  might  run  now,  but  it  would  not  do,  for  every 
old  woman  on  his  route  would  sally  forth  to  know 
if  he  was  going  for  the  doctor,  and  delay  him  with 
no  end  of  questions. 

When  he  entered  Bascom's  store,  he  was 
startled  to  see  how  bare  it  had  become  since  he 
saw  it  last.  Half  the  shelves  were  empty,  and  the 
tempting  display  of  the  counters  had  shrunk  to  a 
forlorn  array  of  odds  and  ends.  A  sharp-eyed 
stranger  was  prowling  softly  about  with  a  note 
book  and  pencil  in  hand  and  Bascom  was  lounging 
near,  in  apparently  careless  attendance. 

"  Why,  good  morning,  Lovel.  Glad  to  see 
you.  Mr.  Whitney,  Mr.  Lovel.  My  friend  Mr. 
Whitney  is  helping  me  take  account  of  stock. 
Lovel 's  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  Whitney. 
Greatest  fox-hunter  in  the  country." 

Mr.  Whitney  nodded,  looked  suspiciously  at 
Sam,  and  went  on  noting  down  his  memoranda. 

"  Say,  Lovel,"  Bascom  continued  hurriedly,  "  I 
want  to  go  fox-hunting  with  you,  or  rabbit-hunt 
ing.  That  suits  me  better.  What  do  you  say  to 
going  some  day  next  week?  " 

"  I  don't  never  hunt  rabbits,"  Sam  answered 
with  a  preoccupied  air.  "  Break  my  dogs  never 
tu  foller  'em.  I  'd  like  tu  see  you  a  minute,  Mr. 
Bascom." 

"Certainly,  certainly,  step  this  way.  Well 
then  call  it  foxes,  though  I  never  could  kill  a  fox  I 


306  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

I  ain't  sharp  enough  for  them ;  "  and  he  led  the 
way  to  the  dingy  little  counting-room  whither  the 
lynx  eyes  of  Whitney  followed  them  till  the  door 
closed  upon  them. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Lovel?"  Bascom 
asked  with  solicitous  good  humor. 

"Look  a  here,  Mr.  Bascom,"  said  Sam  in  a 
low,  restrained  voice  and  dashing  at  his  subject  as 
a  bashful  man  does  when  he  dare  not  hesitate. 
"I  want  you  tu  gi'  me  some  s'curity  fer  what 
I  've  signed  wi'  ye,  on  them  bank  notes.  It 's  run 
up  tu  nine  hundred  dollars  an'  up'ards,  an'  ef 
anything  should  happen,  it  'ould  knock  me  gaily 
west." 

"  Why,  certainly,  Lovel,  I  '11  be  glad  to  secure 
you.  What  do  you  say  to  a  lien  on  the  stock  in 
the  store  ?  " 

"  Why,  seem 's  'ough  it  looks  kinder  slim," 
Sam  said  doubtfully. 

"  Well,  perhaps  ;  I  've  had  a  big  trade  lately, 
but  it 's  worth  a  good  deal  more  '11  nine  hundred. 
I  shall  be  getting  in  my  winter's  stock  next  week, 
though,  an'  I  can  fix  you  then,  so  you  '11  feel  easy 
enough." 

Sam  shook  his  head.  "  I  guess  I  '11  take  a  lien 
on  what  you  Ve  got,  an'  you  c'n  give  me  another, 
when  you  git  your  new  goods  in." 

"  All  right,  Lovel.  I  '11  attend  to  it  right  off, 
to-morrow."  Sam's  countenance  fell.  "  You  see 


DARK  DAYS.  307 

I  can't  attend  to  it  to-day,  on  account  of  helping 
Whitney.  To-morrow  will  do  just  as  well,  won't 
it,  Level?" 

"  I  'd  a  good  deal  druther  hev  it  made  aout 
to-day." 

"  Then,  again,"  continued  Bascom,  "  the  town 
clerk  and  the  'Square  have  both  gone  to  Vgennes. 
Went  by  early  this  morning,  an'  we  could  n't  get 
the  papers  made  out." 

"Wai,  I  s'pose  I'll  hafter  wait,"  said  Sam, 
turning  to  go.  "  You  don't  blame  me  none,  Mr. 
Bascom  ?  I  hain't  got  nothin'  but  the  farm  an'  a 
wood-lot  an'  the  stock  an'  the'  's  three  ol'  folks 
dependin'  on  me,  an'  it  'ould  be  awf'l  tough  if 
anything  should  happen." 

"  Why  of  course,  but  you  need  n't  be  uneasy. 
But  say,  if  you  are,"  and  he  sank  his  voice  to 
a  whisper,  "  why  don't  you  deed  the  farm  back  to 
your  father  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  and  Sam's  face  flushed ;  "  I  hain't 
no  slink  ef  I  be  a  dumb  fool." 

"  Oh,  there  's  no  harm  in  your  doing  that  if  it 
would  make  you  feel  any  easier.  That 's  all  it 
would  be  for,  anyway.  But  do  as  you  like. 
Come  down  in  the  morning  and  we'll  fix  the 
lien." 

He  followed  Sam  to  the  outer  door  and  looked 
after  him  with  something  of  concern  in  his  restless 
eyes;  then  saying  to  himself,  "If  he  will  be  a 


308  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

blasted  fool,  he  must  take  his  chances  with  the 
rest,"  he  returned  to  his  uneasy  lounging. 

That  night  he  was  speeding  behind  Hamners 
best  horse,  toward  the  lake,  on  his  way  to  Can 
ada,  a  fugitive  from  Danvis,  where  he  was  never 
seen  again. 

On  his  way  to  the  village,  the  next  morning, 
Sam  was  met  by  the  ill  tidings  already  running 
like  wild  fire  along  the  quiet  roads,  that  Bascom's 
store  was  closed,  everything  in  it  attached  by  dis 
tant  creditors,  and  he  gone,  no  one  knew  whither. 
Sam  went  on  to  receive  complete  assurance  of  the 
rumor,  and  then  returned  to  his  home,  bearing 
the  burden  of  a  heavy  heart.  His  white,  set  face 
frightened  Huldah  when  he  entered  the  kitchen. 

"Be  you  sick?"  she  asked  anxiously,  but  he 
did  not  answer  till  she  had  followed  him  into  the 
bedroom.  Then  seating  himself  on  the  bed,  he 
drew  her  to  his  knee  and  with  desperate  rapidity 
told  her  the  whole  story  of  his  wretched  entan 
glement  with  the  unscrupulous  adventurer.  She 
listened  to  the  end  without  speaking,  and  then, 
holding  lus  face  with  both  hands  close  to  hers, 
she  said :  — 

"  Sam,  why  did  n't  you  tell  me  afore  ?  I  don't 
blame  you  fer  nothin'  but  that.  You  hed  orter 
ha'  tol'  me,  an'  mebby  I  would  n't  ha'  let  ye,  fer 
I  allers  mistrusted  that  Bascom.  He  was  tew 
clever  an'  tew  false-eyed." 


DARK  DAYS.  309 

*«  Yis,"  said  Sam,  "  tew  dumb  clever  an'  cute 
fer  sech  a  dodunk  as  I  be.  He  kep'  me  a-thinkin' 
it  'ould  be  all  right,  tu-morrer,  tu-morrer,  wi'  his 
promises.  On'y  yistiddy  he  promised  faithful, 
tu  gi'  me  s'curity,  an'  naow  all  he  hed  is  'taiched 
up  an'  he  gone  an'  lef  me  tu  face  the  music 
alone.  Ev'ything  we've  got  is  jes'  the  same  as 
gone.  Them  bank  fellers  tu  V'gennes  don't 
show  no  marcy." 

"  Mebby  father  '11  help  us,  so 's  't  we  c'n  save 
the  farm,"  said  Huldah. 

"  I  would  n't  ask  him,  no  more  'n  I  'd  cut  my 
head  off.  He  never  thought  none  tew  much  on 
me,  an'  naow  he  '11  think  less  on  me.  He  '11  tell 
you  tu  come  hum  wi'  bub,  an'  le'  me  go  tu  the 
ol'  Scratch." 

"  No,  Sam,  he  knows  I  would  n't  never  leave 
you  jes'  as  well  as  you  du,"  said  Huldah  fer 
vently,  stroking  his  frowsy,  flaxen  poll.  "  We  're 
young  an'  tough,  an*  we  've  got  one  'nother  an* 
aour  boy,  an'  what's  the  hul  worl'  compared? 
Don't  you  be  daown-hearted." 

"  I  know  it  all.  But  what  hits  me  the  hardest 
is,  what 's  goiii'  tu  be  become  o'  father  an'  Uncle 
Lisher  an'  Aunt  Jerushy.  They're  all  on  'em 
mos'  past  cuttin'  the'  own  fodder.  An'  what  ef 
we  sh'ld  be  sick  er  suthin'  ?  The'  'd  be  nothin' 
fer  'em  but  tu  go  on  the  taown.  It's  like  a 
chunk  o'  lead." 


310  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

<4  They  shan't  never,'*  she  said,  with  suppressed 
vehemence ;  "  we  '11  work  aour  fingers  tii  the  bone 
fust.  But  there  '11  be  a  way  aout  somewheres. 
It 's  took  us  sudden,  an'  we  've  got  tu  think." 

"  I  've  tried  tu,  but  my  head  's  all  in  a  whirl, 
an'  my  idees  is  all  in  a  whew,  like  dried  leaves  in 
a  whirlwin'." 

"  Well,  we  '11  think  it  aout  someways,"  said 
Huldah  hopefully. 

"  The  sheriff  '11  be  here  tu  rights,"  said  Sam, 
"  fer  them  bank  fellers  is  sharper  on  the  scent  of 
a  dollar  'an  Drive  on  the  track  of  a  fresh-started 
fox.  I  'd  ruther  take  a  wus  lickin'  'an  ever  I  got 
yit  'an  tu  see  him  a-levyin'  on  the  stuff,  an'  the 
Ian'  that  gran'ther  cleared  on  the  fust  pitch  'at 
was  made  in  Dan  vis.  He  could  ha'  settled  at  the 
lake  ef  he  hed  n't  ben  so  afeared  o'  the  fever  V 
aig.  Mebby  ef  he  hed,  an'  I  'd  ha'  been  raised 
there,  I  shouldn't  ha'  ben  such  a  tarnal  fool. 
But  then  ag'in,  mebby  I  would  n't  ha'  faound  you. 
Anyhaow,  the  sheriff  can't  take  you  an'  bub  away 
f 'm  me.  Wai,  I  s'pose  I  mus'  go  tu  work  ef  it  is 
lunsome  business,  a-duin'  fer  you  do'  know  who. 
But  it 's  better  'n  mumpin'.  Duin'  anythin'  is. 
But,  fust  off,  I  Ve  got  tu  tell  father  an'  Uncle 
Lisher,  an'  it 's  abaout  the  toughest  job  in  the  hull 
business." 

"  Wai,  an'  I  '11  talk  it  over  wi'  Aunt  Jerushy." 

"  What   a   caoward   I   be  I "    Sam  exclaimed* 


DARK  DAYS.  311 

"  Lord,  I  wish  't  I  c'ld  run  off  int'  the  woods  an' 
hide,  er  lay  daown  an'  sleep  an'  never  wake  up  tu 
remember  nothin'." 

"  Oh  no,  you  don't  nuther !  You  wanter  live 
an'  see  what  kin'  of  a  hunter  the  baby  's  goin'  tu 
be,"  said  his  wife. 

At  length,  facing  the  irksome  duty  of  inflicting 
pain,  Sam  called  his  father  into  the  shop,  and,  in 
the  fewest  possible  words,  unsparing  of  self-con 
demnation  as  a  penitent  of  his  own  scourge,  he 
told  the  ill  tidings  to  the  two  old  men.  Uncle 
Lisha  heard  them  with  an  attention  divided  by 
his  work  after  the  first  few  words,  listening,  while 
he  entered  the  bristles  in  the  awl-holes  with  un- 
trembling  hands,  and  drew  the  waxed  ends  with 
slow,  strong  pulls.  When  Sam  concluded,  he 
said  :  — 

"  Wai,  good  airth  an'  seas  !  The'  hain't  no 
use  o'  cryin'  over  spilt  milk.  I  guess  the'  won't 
none  on  us  die  afore  aour  tune  comes." 

Timothy  Lovel,  although  appalled  by  the  calam 
ity  which  threatened  to  break  up  the  household 
wherein  he  had  found  such  quiet  contentment, 
offered  only  the  mild  reproof  :  — 

"  You  wa'n't  ezackly  preudent  a-signin'  wi'  a 
man  you  did  n't  know  no  better,"  which  he  tem 
pered  by  saying,  "  but  you  meant  well,  an'  hed  n't 
uo  idee  but  what  't  would  come  all  right." 

Sam  waited  a  little,  giving  them  opportunity  to 


312  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

say  more,  but  they  did  not  avail  themselves  of  it, 
and  for  the  ease  of  his  mind  he  went  forth  to  find 
some  work  to  lay  his  hand  to.  His  first  look 
abroad  revealed  the  well-known  figure  of  the  con 
stable  rocking  and  swaying  up  the  road  in  his 
thorough-brace  sulky,  a  species  of  carriage  used 
by  no  other  person  in  the  community  save  by  the 
doctor. 

The  officer  hitched  his  well-known  white  horse 
much  too  conspicuously  in  front  of  the  house,  and 
then  began  to  levy  on  the  personal  property  in  a 
disagreeably  calm  and  business-like  manner.  Sam 
had  always  liked  Constable  Beers,  and  had  voted 
for  him  at  every  March  meeting  for  years,  but  he 
hated  him  now,  and  swore  never  to  give  him  his 
vote  again.  He,  however,  relented  when  the  con 
stable,  having  made  the  rounds,  turned  to  him 
and  said  with  a  sigh  of  regret :  — 

"  Darn  it  all,  Lovel !  the'  hain't  pus'nal  prop'ty 
'nough  tu  half  satisfy  the  claim,  an'  I  've  got  tu 
'tach  the  land.  I  'm  tormented  sorry,  but  I  've 
got  tu  du  my  duty.  You  must  n't  lay  up  no  hard 
feelin's  ag'in'  me,  as  'twixt  man  an'  man." 

"  I  did  n't  know  but  —  you  lufted  tu,  same  as 
butchers  lufster  kill  critters,"  said  Sam.  "  They 
hain't  nothin'  ag'in'  the  critters,  but  they  like  the 
business." 

"  Wai,  then,  I  don't,"  said  the  constable ;  and 
then,  in  a  loud  whisper,  though  no  one  was  in 


DARK  DAYS.  313 

earshot,  "why,  if  you  had  any  idee  this  was 
a-comin',  why  in  tunket  did  n't  you  deed  the  Ian' 
back  tu  yer  father  ?  " 

"  Proberbly,    'cordin'   tu    most    folkses'   idee, 
'cause  I  was  a  dumbd  fool." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FRIENDS    IN    ADVERSITY. 

SAM  wandered  uneasily  about  in  pursuit  of  work 
that  had  no  purpose  but  to  keep  him  from  think* 
ing.  At  last,  he  shouldered  the  ox-yoke  and 
started  for  the  meadow.  As  he  passed  the  hog 
pen,  he  fairly  resented  the  indifference  with  which 
the  hogs  were  taking  on  fat  for  another  man's 
benefit,  and  begrudgingly  threw  them  their  accus 
tomed  largess  of  nubbins,  though  they  grunted 
lazy  recognition  of  his  familiar  footstep.  It  put 
him  more  out  of  humor,  to  see  the  contentment 
with  which  the  cows  and  oxen  grazed,  jowl  deep 
in  the  aftermath,  and  the  sheep  nibbling  the  pas 
ture  knolls,  all  indifferent  to  impending  change 
of  ownership,  though  they  had  so  long  been  his 
daily  companions.  The  old  hound  alone  seemed 
sympathetic,  walking  at  heel,  spiritless  and  de 
jected,  scarcely  noticing  the  last  night's  fox-trail 
that  the  reeking  herbage  still  exhaled,  and  meet 
ing  his  occasional  glances  with  a  wistful  face 
more  troubled  than  his  master's. 

The  mood  of  nature  was  as  little  in  accord 
with  his  as  was  that  of  liis  flock  and  herds.  The 


FRIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY.  315 

sun  shone  out  of  the  soft  sky  with  genial  warmth 
on  woods  and  fields  not  yet  quite  stripped  of 
painted  leaves  and  green  grass  by  the  final  deso 
lating  blasts  of  late  autumn.  There  was  a  full 
measure  of  hearty  cheer  in  the  notes  of  migrant 
crows  and  other  birds  that  delayed  departure  or 
stayed  to  brave  the  stress  of  winter  weather; 
only  the  tri-syllabic  plaint  of  the  thistle  bird, 
gleaning  the  ripe  weed  seeds,  had  a  cadence  of 
sadness  and  farewell. 

"  It 's  all  the  same  tu  the  airth  an'  the  dumb 
critters,  who  goes  or  who  comes!  All  but  you, 
Drive,"  he  said  as  he  slipped  the  ox-bow  on  old 
Bright's  burly  neck  and  fastened  it  in  the  yoke 
and  called  Broad  to  take  his  place.  "  But  I  hope 
whoever  gits  a  holt  o'  you  ol'  fellers  '11  be  good  tu 
ye,  an'  the  caows  an'  the  ol'  mare.  I  don't  want 
you  'bused  ner  the  farm  nuther." 

He  yoked  the  oxen  to  the  cart  and  drove  them 
out  to  the  field  for  the  last  shocks  of  unhusked 
corn.  The  plough  stood  in  an  unfinished  furrow 
among  the  stubble  and  frost-blackened  pumpkin 
vines.  Sam  drew  it  out  and  heaved  it  upon  the 
cart  with  spiteful  energy. 

"  By  the  gret  horn  spoon,  I  won't  plough  an 
other  furrer  fer  the  Lord  knows  who,"  he  solilo 
quized  in  a  tone  that  accorded  with  the  action ; 
and  with  a  long  look,  as  if  bidding  the  familiar 
field  farewell,  he  hauled  home  the  last  load  and 
turned  the  oxen  loose. 


316  DASTIS  FOLKS. 

He  watched  them  wander  off  in  search  of  the 
choicest  feed  and  then  set  himself  to  husking, 
while  his  vagrant  thoughts  wandered  in  futile 
quest  of  a  way  of  escape  from  the  troubles  that 
beset  him.  His  eyes  went  over  and  over  the  fa 
miliar  interior.  It  was  hard  to  think  that  the  old 
barn  was  passing  out  of  his  ownership.  Every 
nook  and  corner  of  scaffold,  bay,  and  stable  re 
called  some  incident  of  childish  sport  or  freak  of 
fancy,  linked  with  the  thoughts  of  youth  and  man 
hood  so  intimately  that  their  years  seemed  but  as 
days,  childhood  and  youth  but  parts  of  dawning 
manhood.  The  rudely  carved  initials  and  figures 
were  translated  again  in  their  old  significance ; 
the  scars,  the  knots,  the  contortions  of  grain  took 
on  again  the  semblance  of  men.  beasts,  and  birds, 
that  had  been  realities  to  his  childish  imagination. 
All  the  familiar  surroundings  seemed  too  much  a 
part  of  himself  to  go  out  of  his  life  while  he  yet 
lived. 

u  Consarn  it !  "  he  cried  out  impatiently,  as  he 
tossed  aside  a  bundle  of  stalks,  »•  my  idees  runs 
wilder  "n  a  haoun"  pup  on  a  back  track*  an'  never 
gits  nowheres.  I  "11  tell  ye  what,  ol'  dawg."  ad 
dressing  the  hound  curled  up  in  the  comfortable 
warmth  of  the  sunshine  falling  on  the  barn  floor, 
u  we  "11  go  off  int'  the  woods  a  day,  jest  you  an' 
me,  an'  see  if  we  can't  git  "em  straightened  aout." 

Drive's  tail   beat   a  rustling   response  on  the 


FRIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY.  317 

l-ornstalks,  and  his  sad  brow  was  lifted  in  new 
corrugations  of  inquiry. 

The  shadow  of  a  figure  debased  the  gold  of  the 
floating  motes  and  crept  along  the  floor  till  it  fell 
upon  the  bundle  rustling  on  Sam's  lap,  and  Pela- 
tiah's  lank  figure  materialized  behind  it.  Drive 

O 

wagged  recognition,  and  Sam  turned  a  surprised 
face  over  his  shoulder  to  welcome  their  comrade. 

The  simple  greetings,  "  Why,  Peltier,"  "  Wai, 
Samwill,"  expressed  a  deal  of  friendliness,  but  no 
more  was  said  till  Pelatiah,  after  the  custom  of 
such  visitors,  seated  himself,  drew  a  bundle  of 
corn  across  his  knee,  and  began  husking.  For  a 
while  there  was  a  continuous  rustling  of  husks, 
leaves,  and  stalks,  punctuated  by  the  snapping  off 
of  ears  and  their  sharp  click  upon  the  growing 
pile  ;  then,  as  the  two  huskers  finished  their  bun 
dles  together,  Pelatiah  said,  after  much  embar 
rassed  clearing  of  his  throat :  — 

"  I  s'pose  it 's  true  what  I  hearn  abaout  that 
aire  Bascom's  gittin'  you  intu  sech  a  mess  ?  " 

Sam  nodded  assent,  and  Pelatiah  continued, 
"  I  'm  turrible  sorry,  Samwill,  an'  I  wish  *t  I  hed 
the  means  tu  help  ye  more  'n  what  I  hev  ;  but  I 
hev  got  some,  which  I  want  you  tu  take  an'  use 
it." 

He  leaned  far  back,  straightened  his  left  leg, 
went  down  into  the  depths  of  his  trousers'  pocket, 
and  brought  up  therefrom  a  wallet,  from  which 


318  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

he  took  a  small  roll  of  bank  notes,  and  carefully 
counted  them  upon  his  knee  with  a  frequently 
moistened  forefinger. 

"  I  hed  consid'able  more  'n  forty  dollars  'at  I  'd 
saved  up  one  way  an'  'nother,"  he  said  apologet 
ically,  as  he  completed  the  counting,  "but  the 
fun'al,  an'  the  darkter's  bill  an'  Hamner's  took 
above  half  on  't.  But  I  want  ye  tu  take  this  an* 
not  trouble  tu  pay  it  back  ontil  things  eases  up  on 

ye." 

He  stretched  it  out  toward  Sam  with  an  awk 
ward,  bashful  eagerness  glowing  in  his  honest 
face. 

"  Oh,  Peltier,  I  could  n't !  "  Sam  protested,  his 
voice  choking  and  his  eyes  moistening.  "  I  'm  a 
thaousan'  times  obleeged  tu  ye,  but  I  could  n't 
take  it." 

"  But  I  want  ye  tu,  Samwill.  'T  ain't  much,  I 
know,  but  it  '11  help  over  the  pitches  some, 
maybe,"  Pelatiah  urged. 

"  I  'in  as  'bleeged  tu  ye  as  if  't  was  a  thaousan' 
dollars,  but  I  could  n't  take  it.  I  do'  know  when 
I  c'ld  pay  you,  an'  I  hain't  a  thing  tu  s'cure  you, 
an'  ev'rythin'  here  's  'taiched  up." 

"  I  don't  care  when  you  pay  me,  I  want  you  tu 
take  it  an'  use  it  jest  's  if  't  was  yourn."  Pela 
tiah  thrust  the  money  further  toward  Sam's  with 
drawn  hand.  "  I  did  n't  s'pose  you  'd  spleen  ag'in' 
takin'  a  leetle  favor  f'm  me,  Samwill,  sen'  I  've 


FEIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY.  319 

took  so  many  f 'm  you,"  Pelatiah  said,  in  a  grieved 
tone,  and  still  holding  out  the  proffered  loan. 

Sam  looked  steadily  into  the  earnest,  kindly 
blue  eyes  and  took  the  hand  and  money  in  a  warm, 
firm  grasp. 

"  Ef  you  're  goin'  tu  feel  that  way  'baout  it,  I 
shall  hafter  take  it,  but  I  hed  n't  ortu." 

"  You  hed  n't  ortu  ?  You  've  gottu,"  said  Pela 
tiah  joyfully.  "  It  'ould  burn  my  pocket  tu  kerry 
it  an'  you  a-needin'  on  't,  so  there !  " 

"  Wai,  ef  you  will  hev  it  so,  you  will,  but  you 
got  to  take  a  note  't  any  rate.  Come  int'  the 
haouse  an'  I  '11  write  one." 

Pelatiah  protested,  but  Sam  was  inexorable, 
and,  after  counting  the  money  carefully,  pocketed 
it  and  led  the  way  into  the  house. 

"  Bad  luck  is  good  luck  when  it  shows  a  feller 
who  his  frien's  is,"  Sam  said,  laying  a  gentle  hand 
on  his  young  comrade's  shoulder  as  they  entered 
the  door. 

Long  before  the  constable  posted  the  notice  of 
the  sale  in  Hamner's  bar-room  and  in  Clapham's 
store,  the  news  of  Sam's  disaster  was  spread 
through  half  the  township. 

Mrs.  Purington  waddled  across  the  fields  to 
offer  the  balm  of  condolence  to  the  distressed 
family.  The  sound  of  her  labored  breath,  and 
ponderous  step  on  the  threshold  as  she  assisted 
herself,  with  a  hand  on  her  knee,  to  surmount  it 


320  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

and  enter  the  door,  opened  to  the  Indian  summer 
warmth,  was  the  first  announcement  of  her  visit. 

Faintly  acknowledging  the  salutations  of  her 
daughter,  Aunt  Jerusha,  Uncle  Lisha,  and  Tim 
othy,  she  slowly  lowered  herself  into  the  first 
comfortable  chair,  accomplishing  the  feat  with 
a  final  bounce,  and  exhaling  a  long  sigh,  as  if  she 
were  a  slowly  collapsing  bag  of  inflated  india  rub 
ber.  Then  she  rummaged  forth  her  handkerchief 
and  bottle  of  hartshorn  salts,  and  fixed  a  tearful 
gaze  on  the  little  boy,  who  sat  among  his  aban 
doned  playthings  staring  in  bewilderment  at  his 
grandmother's  rueful  countenance. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  innercent !  "  she  wailed,  in  a 
shaking  voice,  portentous  of  a  lachrymal  shower ; 
"  little  you  know  what  's  afore  you,  a-settin'  there, 
playin'  wi'  your  mother's  clo'spins  which  I  gin 
her  four  dozen,  when  she  went  tu  haousekeepin' 
wi'  yer  father,  which  I  should  n't  think  he  c'ld 
endure  tu  look  at  ye  ner  her,  a-thinkin'  what  he  's 
brung  on  ye.  Play  wi'  'em  while  ye  can,  an'  it 
don't  make  no  diiFunce  ef  ye  break  'em  or  lose 
'em,  fer  't  ain't  likely  she  '11  hev  no  use  fer  'em, 
wi'  nothin'  tu  heng  aout  on'y  the  clo's  on  yer 
backs,  which  she  can't  'thout  all  a-goin'  tu  bed. 
An'  tu  think  'at  you  was  fetched  through  the 
whoopin'  cough  an'  the  measles  wi'  Hive  surrup 
an'  lobele  an'  pennyrile  tea,  tu  come  tu  this, 
which  I  gathered  wi'  my  own  han's,  an'  nanny- 


FEIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY.  321 

berries  tu  fetch  'em  aout,  a-nussin'  you  an'  com- 
fortin'  your  mother,  an'  broke  o'  my  res',  which 
I  will  con  tinner  tu,  whilst  I  'm  gi'ii  stren'th." 

She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and 
tucked  the  smelling-bottle  inside  it  to  her  nose, 
making  her  snuffling  sobs  do  double  duty,  while 
the  object  of  her  pity  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept, 
whereunto  Drive  joined  a  sympathetic  howl. 

"  For  massy 's  sake,  mother,"  cried  Huldah, 
snatching  up  the  child  and  wiping  his  nubby  nose 
with  her  apron  while  she  tried  to  comfort  him, 
"  what  be  ye  makin'  sech  a  fuss  abaout  ?  There, 
mother's  man,  he  stop  a  minute  an'  hear  Drive 
sing.  Just  see  what  a  howdalo  you  Ve  started ! 
What 's  the  use  o'  hevin'  a  fun'al  afore  anybody 
'sdead?" 

"  It 's  alters  the  way,"  whined  Mrs.  Purington 
behind  her  handkerchief.  "Jes'  as  soon  as  ye 
try  tu  comfort  anybody,  they  git  mad  'stiddy 
bein'  grateful  one  mossel  tu  folks  a-toilin'  'cross 
lots  tu  console  'em,  an'  climbin'  fences  an'  a-soz- 
zlin'  through  wet  grass,  —  I  do'  know  why  that 
aire  rowen  hain't  cut,  a  ton  to  the  acre,  —  an* 
the'  heart  a-bustin'  wi'  sympathy,  an'  both  feet 
a-soppin'  wet,  an'  then  hev  it  all  took  so  ongrate- 
ful.  An'  Lisher  an'  Jerushy,"  making  a  blind 
gesture  toward  them  with  the  smelling-bottle  fru 
gally  stopped  with  her  forefinger,  "the'  hain't 
notliin'  f er  them  but  tu  be  hove  ontu  the  taown, 
fer  's  I  see." 


322  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

"  Good  airth  an'  seas,  Eunice  Pur'n't'n  !  Ef 
it  comes  tu  thet,  't  ain't  no  killin'  disgrace.  Pov 
erty  hain't  no  crime,  an'  I  Ve  allers  paid  my 
sheer  o'  the  poor  tax ;  an'  ef  it 's  my  lot  tu  hev 
some  on  't  used  fer  me,  I  shan't  consider  it  no 
disgrace.  But  the'  's  lots  o'  day's  works  in  me 
an'  the  ol'  woman  yit,  afore  it  comes  tu  that." 

"  It  does  seem  's  ef  some  folks  hed  n't  no  shame 
intu  'em,"  she  said  mournfully,  and  Sam,  entering 
just  then,  drew  upon  himself  the  consolatory 
stream. 

"  Oh  dear  me  sussy  day  !  "  she  said,  regarding 
him  sorrowfully  and  reproachfully  as  she  sniffed 
the  hartshorn.  "  I  du  hope,  Samwill  Lovel,  'at 
you  reurlize  naow  what  I  allers  said,  an'  Huldy's 
father,  what  yer  goo'-fer-nothin'  huntin'  'ould 
come  tu  in  the  eend.  Huntin'  an'  signin'  goes 
hand  in  hand.  Oh  dear  me  suz  !  " 

"  Wai,  naow,"  Sam  said,  in  a  conciliatory  tone, 
44 1  don't  ezackly  see  what  my  huntin'  hed  *  tu  du 
wi'  my  signin'  wi'  that  skeezucks.  He  never  went 
a-huntin'  'long  wi'  me.  Ef  I  was  borned  a  tarnal 
fool,  I  do'  know  what  the  huntin',  'at  come  arter, 
hed  tu  du  with  't.  Huntin'  sharpens  a  feller's 
wits,  an'  I  'm  'most  af eared  I  hain't  hunted  half 
enough." 

She  groaned,  and  went  on  :  — 

"  Haow  in  the  livin'  worl'  anybody  c'ld  trust 
that  sof '-soapin'  hippercrite  of  a  Bascom  's  more  'n 


FRIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY.  323 

I  c'n  see  intu.  I  allers  said  f'm  the  fust  'at  he 
was  a  scallywag,  an'  wa'n't  tu  be  trusted  a  inch. 
He  went  off  a-owin'  me,  myself,  tew  dollars,  — 
twenty  dozen  aigs  the'  was,  an'  forty  cents,  'cause 
I  couldn't  think  o'  nothin'  I  wanted  jes'  then, 
never  mistrustin'  nothin'." 

"  You  must  ha'  ben  a-huntin'  that  day,  mother," 
Sam  suggested. 

"  Me  a-huntin'  ?  "  she  snorted  indignantly. 
"  Nob'dy  never  come  tu  no  good  a-shoolin'  an* 
a-traipsin'  'raoun'  a-huntin',  an'  - 

"  'T  aint  no  sech  a  thing,  Eunice  Bord'n." 
With  the  hoarse  whistling  voice  came  the  sound 
of  a  footfall  and  the  emphatic  planting  of  a  staff 
on  the  threshold,  and  Gran'ther  Hill  stamped  in, 
glaring  savagely  at  Mrs.  Purington,  who  at  once 
took  refuge  in  her  handkerchief  and  fortified 
herself  with  repeated  sniffs  of  the  hartshorn. 

"  It 's  good  fer  a  man's  body  an'  soul  tu  go  a- 
huntin'  ef  he  don't  hunt  like  a  cussed  hawg, 
a-gawmin'  daown  ev'ything  he  comes  tu.  A  rest 
tu  the  body  an'  a  divarsion  tu  the  min'  fer  sech  as 
c'n  enj'y  sensible  divarsion  an'  hain't  got  a  appe 
tite  fer  f un'als  which  I  hain't.  Would  n't  never 
go  tu  my  own  'f  I  c'ld  git  red  on  't." 

The  good  woman  uncovered  one  eye  as  this 
indirect  thrust  was  delivered  at  one  of  her  well- 
known  weaknesses. 

"  The'  can't  nob'dy  say  'at  ever  I  went  tu  a 


324  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

fun'al  on'y  f m  a  sense  o'  duty,  aouten  respect  tu 
the  diseased  an'  tu  comfort  the  living"  she  pro 
tested  in  broken  accents.  "  But  I  declare  tu 
goodness,  Capting  Hill,  I  won't  never  go  nigh 
yourn." 

"  It 's  hopesin'  I  won'  give  ye  no  'casion  fer  a 
c'nsid'able  spell  yit,  Eunice,"  said  the  veteran, 
smiling  grimly.  "  But  I  did  n't  come  here  tu  jaw 
wi'  women.  I  come  here  on  business  wi'  Sam  will," 
and  he  turned  toward  him  without  the  softening 
of  a  line  in  his  stern  old  visage. 

"  Hunters  is  some  like  sojers  in  hengin'  tu- 
gether,  an'  I  heng  tu  you,  not  'at  you  're  much  of 
a  hunter,  but  ye  would  ha'  ben  ef  I  'd  hed  the 
bringin'  on  ye  up,  but  you  hain't  tu  blame  for 
thet.  I  've  jest  hearn  'at  you  Ve  got  yer  foot  in- 
tu  a  reg'lar  bear-trap  thet  blasted  Bascom  sot  fer 
ye.  Thet  comes  o'  bein'  tew  tarnal  clever  an' 
good-natered,  which  it  is  the  on'y  fault  o'  hunters, 
an'  what  allers  ailded  me.  The  idee  is,  naow, 
tu  git  ye  aout  on  't,  an'  I  come  over  tu  tell  ye  'at 
I  've  jest  drawed  my  year's  pension,  namely, 
ninety-six  dollars,  in  money,  an'  I  'm  a-goin'  tu  let 
ye  hev  it  long  as  you  're  a  min'  tu,  'thaout  use, 
twenty  year  mebby,  I  shan't  want  it  till  I  git 
kin'e  ol  'an'  gi'n  aout." 

The  while  he  spoke,  Gran'ther  Hill  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  tanned  heart  case  and  took  out  of  it 
a  roll  of  crisp  new  bank  notes  which  he  now  began 


FRIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY.  325 

to  count  out  on  the  table,  and,  having  laboriously 
completed  the  unusual  task,  shoved  them  toward 
Sam. 

"  I  thank  ye  more  'n  I  c'n  tell,  Cap'n  Hill," 
Sam  said,  "  but  I  can't  take  it.  I  can't  give  ye 
no  s'curity,  an'  my  note  hain't  wuth  the  paper  it 's 
wrote  on,  naow.  I  could  n't  take  it,  Cap'n." 

"  Damn  the  s'curity.  Gimme  your  dawg.  I 
sh'ld  like  tu  own  a  ninety-six  dollar  haoun'  dawg. 
Come,  ye  got  tu  take  it,  Sammy." 

Sam  shook  his  head.  "  No,  Cap'n,  I  can't  take 
it  naow,  but  I  '11  tell  ye  what  I  '11  du,  if  wust 
comes  tu  wust,  I  '11  ask  ye  for  't,  an'  I  'm  as  'bleeged 
tu  ye  as  ef  I  hed  the  money  in  my  pocket,"  and  he 
thrust  the  notes  back  into  the  veteran's  unwilling 
hand. 

"  Wai,  ef  ye  won't  hev  it  no  other  way,  so  be  it," 
he  said  returning  it  to  the  heart  case  and  that  to 
his  pocket. 

"  I  don't  see  no  way,"  whimpered  Mrs.  Puring- 
ton,  having  regained  her  speech  and  improving 
the  first  opportunity  to  exercise  it,  "  no  way  but 
fer  you,  Huldy,  tu  take  bub  an'  come  hum  till 
things  gits  settled.  The  '11  be  the  vandue,  which 
the  hull  haouse  '11  be  run  over  wuss  '11  a  donation 
party,  thank  goodness,  they  won't  hafter  be  fed, 
sheriff's  vandue,  a-peekin'  intu  all  the  charmbers, 
an'  a-trackin'  f 'm  suller  tu  garrit,  fer  there  '11  be 
mud,  the'  allers  is,  an'  a-seein'  your  vallerdest 


326  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

things  sol'  afore  your  face  an'  eyes  f er  mos'  nothin*. 
You  take  bub  an'  come  hum." 

44  Mother,"  —  Huldah's  voice  was  tremulous  with 
suppressed  indignation  and  her  face  flushed  with 
anger,  —  "  what  sort  of  a  fair-weather  wife  du 
you  s'pose  I  be,  tu  sneak  off  an'  leave  my  man 
tu  stan'  the  brunt  on  't  alone  ?  It  was  fer  richer 
an'  poorer  'at  I  promised  tu  take  Sam,  an'  what 
I  promise  I  stan'  tu,  jes'  as  he  does.  What  hits 
one,  hits  both,  an'  the  heft  one  kerries,  t'  other 
takes  the'  sheer  on." 

44 1  do'  know  Huldy  but  you  'd  better,"  said 
Sam.  44  It  '11  be  almighty  onpleasant  fer  ye  here, 
as  yer  mother  says." 

44 1  Ve  gone  snucks  wi'  you  in  all  the  pleasant 
things  we  Ve  come  tu,  an'  so  I  shall  in  them  that 
hain't."  She  tossed  the  boy  upon  her  shoulder 
and  took  him  to  his  father,  into  whose  arms  she 
thrust  him,  where,  clinging  to  Sam's  neck  he  cast 
furtive  wondering  backward  glances  at  his  grand 
mother's  woe-begone  face  and  the  grim  visage  of 
Gran'ther  Hill. 

44  Bub  hain't  a-goin'  tu  leave  his  daddy  in  the 
ruts,  is  he,  ner  his  mother,  nuther  ?  "  she  said, 
kissing  his  plump  cheek. 

44  Naow,  then,  Sammy,"  said  Gran'ther  Hill, 
starting  in  his  chair  with  a  sudden  recollection, 
"  if  you  've  got  any  cider  'at 's  good  fer  the  time 
D'  year  as  it  was  this  time  las'  year,  I  want  some 


FRIENDS  IN  ADVERSITY.  327 

on 't,  fer  I  'm  nigh  abaout  kiln-dried  wi'  talkin'  an' 
hearin'  talk.  Light  a  light  an'  I  '11  go  ri'  daown 
suller  wi'  ye,  fer  Lisher  an'  Timerthy  don't  need 
none,  't  aint  nourishin'  'nough  fer  sech  ol'  critters. 
Why,  they  've  gone." 

His  eyes  sought  the  corner  where  they  had  last 
been  seen,  but  they,  having  received  all  they  de 
sired  of  Mrs.  Purington's  consolation,  had  some 
time  before  retired  unnoticed  to  the  shop. 

As  Gran'ther  Hill  carefully  descended  the 
stairs  behind  Sam,  placing  each  foot  twice  on 
every  step,  he  ground  his  gums  till  nose  and  chin 
met  and  whispered  hoarsely  :  — 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry,  Lovel,  I  '11  give  ye  the 
ninety-six  dollars  aout  an'  aout,  if  you  '11  jest  le'  me 
choke  that  mother-in-law  o'  yourn,  one  minute." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

LUCK   OF  THE   WOODS. 

"  THEY  say  the  Widder  Needham  wants  tu  let 
her  place  on  sheers,"  said  Sam  to  his  wife  the 
next  morning,  when  they,  the  baby,  and  the  hound 
were  the  only  occupants  of  the  kitchen,  "  an'  I  Ve 
thought  o'  tryin'  fer  that,  but  I  do'  know,  I  can't 
git  a  holt  o'  nothin'.  I  b'lieve  I  shall  hafter  go 
off  int'  the  woods  by  myself  a  spell,"  and  he  cast 
a  casual  glance  up  at  his  gun  that  was  gathering 
the  dust  of  disuse.  "  Then  ag'in,  I  kinder  want 
tu  look  over  aour  maountain  lot.  That  hain't  ben 
'taiched,  an'  it  seems  's  'ough  it  might  be  turned 
tu  some  accaount.  The'  's  a  slew  o'  timber  on  't, 
an'  I  c'ld  build  us  a  turrible  neat  lawg  haouse 
aouten  them  spreuce." 

"  Oh,  I  allers  thought  a  lawg  haouse  wus  jest  as 
cute  as  could  be  an'  allers  wanted  tu  live  in  one," 
Huldah  said  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Mebby  you  '11  git  the  chance.  An'  if  I  c'ld 
hit  the  forge  folks  on  a  coalin'  job,  I  might  make 
well  on  't.  If  't  was  cleared  up,  I  s'pose  we  might 
git  a  livin'  off  on  't.  It 's  c'nsid'able  uphill  an'  I 
don't  s'pose  the  sile  o'  land  is  fust  chop,  but  I 


LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS.  329 

guess  it  'ould  raise  white  beans  an'  buckwheat  an* 
both  on  'em  is  fillin'." 

"  Good  land,  Sam,"  cried  Huldah.  "  Don't  fer 
lan's  sake  say  buckwheat  afore  mother.  She  'd 
hev  a  conniption  fit  an'  hev  aour  ears  all  cracked 
off  'm  aour  heads  afore  the  buckwheat  was  in 
blow." 

"  I  don't  set  no  gret  store  by  it  myself,"  Sam 
conceded,  "  but  it 's  better  'n  a  snow  bank,  an' 
high  duck  folks  is  gittin'  tu  think  buckwheat 
pancakes  is  some  punkins.  But  the'  can't  no 
Green  Maountain  Boy  go  ag'in'  beans.  They  was 
victuals  an'  drink  tu  the  ol'  settlers,  an'  ammerni- 
tion,  tew,  fer  I  've  heard  Gran'ther  Hill  tell  haow 
'at  they  shot  Yorkers  with  'em.  I  guess  I  '11  go 
up  an'  look  the  lot  over  an'  see.  An'  I  s'pose  I 
might  as  well  take  my  gun  along  an'  Drive  'ould 
feel  bad  if  I  left  him." 

"  No,  you  mus'  n't  hurt  Drive's  feelin's,"  said 
Huldah,  smiling,  as  she  roused  the  hound  from 
the  heavy  sleep  that  linked  one  hunting  bout  with 
another. 

"  I  allers  feel  better  in  the  woods  an'  c'n  think 
better  in  'em,  an'  mebby  c'n  git  my  idees  straight 
ened  aout." 

Huldah  had  great  faith  in  Sam's  sovereign  balm 
for  all  his  ills  of  body  and  mind,  having  seen 
it  work  cures  of  both,  and  offered  no  objection 
to  a  trial  of  it  now.  As  he  stepped  forward  to 


330  DAN  VIS    FOLKS. 

take  down  his  gun,  his  father  came  in  with  some 
husks  in  a  basket,  to  sort  for  braiding.  With 
surprise  but  no  reproach,  he  said  :  — 

"  Why,  Sammy,  seem  's  'ough  you  was  takin'  a 
late  start  a-huntin',  fer  you." 

"  Wai,  father,  I  'm  goin'  more  tu  see  abaout  the 
wood  lot.  Seems 's  'ough  we  c'ld  git  somethin' 
aout  o'  that,"  Sam  explained  and  went  out,  Drive 
careering  about  him  in  clumsy  expression  of  joy  at 
the  unexpected  outing.  Sam's  heart  felt  a  fresh 
pang  as  he  passed  the  shop  window  and  thought 
of  the  anxiety  his  credulity  had  brought  upon  his 
two  old  friends. 

As  Huldah  fondly  watched  her  husband  out  of 
sight,  she  sighed  to  see  how  wearily  he  walked 
with  downcast  eyes  as  one  whose  thoughts  were 
far  from  sport  or  pastime.  Yet  his  dulled  senses 
were  alert  enough  to  feel  keenly  how  his  mood 
was  mocked  by  the  Indian  Summer  day  that 
seemed  to  have  caught  all  the  year's  serenity  in 
its  misty  web  of  gold  and  purple. 

The  breeze  touched  him  softly  as  the  breath  of 
June,  nor  scarcely  stirred  the  drifted  windrows 
of  fallen  leaves,  nor  tossed  alee  the  gray  ashes  of 
the  goldenrod's  burned-out  flame,  nor  bore  from 
the  veiled  mountain  the  low  song  of  the  evergreens. 
The  tranquil  babble  of  unswollen  brooks  rose 
and  fell  with  the  light  wafts,  the  bluebirds'  carol 
floated  down  through  the  haze  that  was  spun  from 


LUCK  OF  THE   WOODS.  331 

sky  to  earth,  the  meadow-larks  sang  their  long- 
drawn  summer  songs  again,  the  lazy  caw  of  lin 
gering  crows  came  from  their  latest  woodland 
camp  among  the  evergreens,  and  a  partridge's 
April  drum-call  throbbed  through  the  filmy 
copses.  It  was  as  if  nature  were  solacing  herself 
in  this  autumnal  truce  for  all  turbulence  of  her 
forces,  past,  or  henceforth  possible. 

With  scarcely  a  thought  of  his  course,  Sam 
entered  the  woods  and  heard  as  in  a  dream  the 
old  hound's  rustling  footsteps  as  he  ranged  about 
him.  Nor  did  he  scarcely  notice  more  the  impa 
tient  whine  that  told  of  a  puzzling  scent,  half 
exhaled  since  Reynard  fared  homeward  from  his 
early  mousing,  nor  yet  the  first  clear  note  that 
announced  a  more  exhilarating  savor  with  assured 
direction.  But  when  the  melody  became  exultant 
and  continuous  with  competing  echoes  he  awoke 
to  a  realization  that  the  fox  was  afoot,  and  he  in 
stinctively  made  for  a  favorite  runway.' 

It  was  at  the  crest  of  a  ledge  that  wrinkled  the 
mountain  side  lengthwise,  where  the  starved  trees, 
beggarly  with  patches  of  lichen  and  rags  of  moss, 
stood  far  apart  among  the  rocks  and  gave  eye  and 
gun  a  range  of  several  rods.  Sam  stood  listening 
till  the  hound's  voice,  with  its  attendant  clamor  of 
screaming  jays,  had  faded  out  of  hearing,  leaving 
the  woods  about  him  as  silent  as  if  he  were  thei* 
only  tenant. 


S32  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

He  sat  down  on  a  fallen  trunk  and  his  thoughts 
went  wearily  back  to  a  confused  consideration  of 
plans  for  the  future  that  came  and  went  like  a 
procession  of  fog  wreaths  and  would  take  no  more 
definite  form. 

The  bugle  notes  rose  faintly  again  in  the  dis 
tance,  and  rolled  nearer  and  nearer,  but  if  heard, 
were  not  heeded,  till  a  sudden  burst  close  at  hand 
recalled  with  a  start  his  wandering  thoughts,  and 
he  rose  quickly  to  his  feet.  There  was  a  rustling 
of  dry  leaves  hi  the  hollow  at  his  left,  and  he 
caught  fleeting  glimpses  of  the  fox  running  at  top 
speed  in  evident  alarm  at  a  sight  or  scent  of  the 
hunter.  With  one  motion,  the  cocked  gun  was  at 
Sam's  shoulder,  sighted  a  foot  ahead  of  the  flying 
target  and  the  trigger  pulled.  In  that  moment, 
his  mind  all  on  the  game  now,  with  a  pang  of 
vexation  he  was  aware  that  a  tree  trunk  had  inter 
vened.  He  heaved  a  sigh  of  disappointment. 

"  By  the  gret  horn  spoon,  jewed  by  a  skeezucks 
and  fooled  by  a  fox,  I  wonder  what 's  a-comin' 
next." 

The  report  of  the  gun  led  Drive  to  the  spot, 
by  a  shorter  route  than  the  devious  course  of  the 
fox.  The  hound  looked  up  with  reproacliful, 
wondering  inquiry  a  moment  when  laid  on  the 
trail,  then  resumed  his  slow,  persistent  pursuit 
with  a  renewed  burst  of  far-echoed  melody.  Sam 
listened  in  vexation  of  spirit  to  the  receding  notes 


LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS.  333 

of  the  hound  and  the  answering  echoes  growing 
fainter  and  fainter,  till  they  were  scarcely  distin 
guishable  above  the  fitful  stir  of  dry  leaves  in  the 
vagrant  wafts  of  air,  and  the  constant  monotone 
of  the  evergreens  on  the  wind-loved  heights. 

At  last  they  faded  beyond  the  scope  of  in- 
tentest  listening,  and,  dismissing  with  them  all 
thought  of  sport,  he  went  on  over  ledges  and 
through  depressions  toward  the  mountain  lot. 
His  woodsman's  eye  soon  discovered  the  faint 
marks  of  one  boundary  which  he  traced  to  an 
ancient  corner-tree,  encircled  by  its  axe-scarred 
"  witnesses  "  and  bearing  the  moss-grown  initials 
of  the  colonial  surveyor  and  the  numbers  of  the 
four  lots  whose  common  corner  it  had  established, 
when  Governor  Benning  Wentworth  held  disputed 
sway  over  the  New  Hampshire  grants.  Thence 
he  carefully  followed  the  eastern  line  through  the 
forest  whose  autumnal  silence  was  as  unbroken 
as  the  dead  stillness  of  winter,  save  for  the  occa 
sional  rustle  of  fallen  leaves  and  the  liquid  tinkle 
of  a  rivulet  ringing  its  course  with  a  chime  of 
foam  bells. 

The  iterant  clamor  of  a  log-cock  on  his  accus 
tomed  beat,  the  patient  tapping  of  his  lesser 
brethren,  a  squirrel's  rasping  of  a  nut,  the  petu 
lant  squalling  of  the  jays,  were  sounds  common  to 
both  seasons,  but  as  Sam,  with  the  habitual  cau 
tion  of  a  hunter,  went  noiselessly  onward,  he 


334  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

became  aware  of  sounds  that  seemed  strange  and 
at  variance  with  these. 

It  was  the  noise  of  delving  with  spade  and  pick 
in  stony  soil.  He  moved  cautiously  in  its  direc 
tion  till  he  came  to  the  brink  of  ledge  overlook 
ing  a  level  plateau  or  terrace,  whereon  he  saw, 
almost  beneath  him,  three  men  whom  he  at  once 
recognized  from  Pelatiah's  description  as  Hamner's 
mysterious  guests.  The  one  who  was  steadily 
wielding  a  pick  he  recognized  as  a  trapper  and 
root-digger  from  a  neighboring  town. 

The  ministerial  looking  gentleman  in  seedy 
black  clothes  was  carefully  examining  the  up 
turned  earth  and  stones.  The  third,  who  was 
evidently  first  in  the  order  of  their  worldly  stand 
ing,  was  intently  watching  the  proceedings,  while 
nervously  puffing  a  cigar  of  such  fragrance  that 
when  it  reached  Sam's  nostrils  it  gave  him  a 
desire  to  smoke,  and  he  instinctively  put  his  hand 
in  his  pocket  for  pipe  and  tobacco.  But  denying 
himself,  he  quietly  stretched  out  in  a  comfortable 
position  to  peer  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  see 
what  kind  of  work  was  being  done  on  his  prop 
erty. 

"  Well,  Professor,"  he  heard  the  smoker  say 
ing,  "  what 's  your  opinion  of  it  ?  " 

The  professor  chucked  some  specimens  thought 
fully  from  hand  to  hand  and  answered  in  meas 
ured  precision :  — 


LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS.  335 

"  It  is  apparently  an  ore  of  good  quality,  but 
that  can  of  course  only  be  ascertained  by  smelting 
it  in  sufficient  quantity  for  a  practical  test  of  its 
quality." 

"  Worth  buying,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  was  answered  with  a  decision  that 
was  presently  qualified  by,  "  at  a  reasonable  figure, 
Colonel." 

"  Of  course,"  the  colonel  answered  impatiently ; 
"  it  is  n't  likely  any  one  will  ask  a  steep  price  for 
a  mountain  wood  lot.  But  suppose  they  should 
get  their  ideas  up,  how  much  will  it  do  to  pay  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  convenient  to  the  forge,"  the  pro 
fessor  pondered.  "  Hematites  is  apt  to  be  hard, 
but  it  can  be  mixed  with  a  softer  ore  to  advan 
tage,  —  the  bed  appears  to  be  quite  extensive,  — 
I  should  consider  it  safe  to  pay  a  thousand  dol 
lars." 

Sam's  heart  was  beating  so  loudly  that  he  mis 
took  it  for  the  ponderous  throb  of  the  forge-ham 
mer  two  miles  away,  and  prognosticated  a  storm 
from  what  he  called  the  "  hollerness  o'  the  air." 

"  Pooh,  a  thousand  dollars !  Any  of  these  peo 
ple  would  jump  at  half  that.  It's  more  money 
than  they  ever  saw,  and  it 's  nothing  but  a  wood  lot 
anyway."  The  colonel  threw  down  the  stump  of 
his  cigar  and  stamped  it  out. 

"And  that  would  leave  you  five  hundred  to 
buy  another  race  horse,  another  'Cock  of  the 


836  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

Rock,'  or  to  divide  between  me  and  our  friend 
Trask  here  who  is  the  real  discoverer  of  the  bed." 

"  Oh,  William  is  going  to  be  well  paid  for  his 
time  and  trouble,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Wai,  I  caTlate  I  ortu  hev  suthin'  more  'n 
day's  wages,  seein'  'at  I  diskivered  this  'ere  ore 
bed,"  the  person  referred  to  remarked,  squatting 
on  his  haunches  so  that  his  knees  were  on  a  line 
with  his  ears,  his  arms  outstretched  between 
them  while  he  meditatively  poked  the  earth  with 
the  point  of  the  pick.  "  Yis,  an'  more  'n  I  c'ld 
ha'  aimed  diggin'  jinshang,  or  trappin'.  Sssh, 
hear  that  aire  haoun'  dawg?  He's  comin'  right 
stret  here.  Gawlly  bleue,  I  wisht  I  'd  fetched  my 
gun." 

He  suddenly  uncoiled  his  long  legs  and  sprang 
up  like  an  attenuated  jack-in-the-box,  bending 
an  attentive  ear  as  he  stretched  out  a  wide-spread 
hand  to  enjoin  silence. 

Sam  was  giving  such  close  attention  to  this 
conversation  that  his  ear  did  not  catch  the  voice 
of  the  returning  hound  until  drawn  to  it  by  the 
words  and  attitude  of  Trask.  Almost  in  the 
same  instant  he  saw  the  fox  a  long  gunshot  off  on 
the  brink  of  a  ledge,  picking  his  way  along  the 
naked  rock,  intent  on  the  strategy  of  a  puzzling 
trail,  yet  with  nose  and  ears  alert  for  any  lurking 
enemy.  Sam  took  in  at  a  glance  that  most  per 
fect  picture  of  cunning  that  nature  gives,  the  cun- 


LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS.  337 

ning  which  it  was  his  chief  delight  to  foil,  and 
the  hunter's  instinct  rose  above  all  other  thought 
or  plan,  joined  with  a  desire  to  atone  for  the 
morning's  blundering  shot. 

His  gun  was  aimed  with  deliberate  celerity  and 
in  the  same  instant  spat  forth  its  deadly  charge, 
and  in  the  midst  of  a  requiem  of  echoing  report 
and  resounding  bugle-notes,  poor  Reynard  tumbled 
down  the  cliff,  almost  at  the  feet  of  the  prospec 
tors,  who  were  more  startled  by  the  sudden  appari 
tion  than  was  he  by  the  stroke  that  ended  his  life 
with  its  first  shock. 

The  secret  of  his  presence  being  disclosed,  Sam 
descended  to  secure  his  quarry,  which  he  did  with 
well-simulated  surprise  at  the  discovery  of  wit 
nesses  of  his  shot. 

"  By  the  gret  horn  spoon !  "  he  declared,  com 
ing  to  a  sudden  halt  before  the  group,  with  the 
fox  lying  yet  untouched  at  his  feet.  "  You  folks 
scairt  me  aouten  a  year's  growth,  a-comiii'  ontu 
ye  so  onexpected.  I  'd  jes'  as  soon  ha'  thought  o' 
runnin'  ontu  a  camp-meetin'  up  here,  for  I  s'posed 
Drive  an'  me  an'  the  wiT  critters  hed  the  woods 
all  tu  aourselves.  Hain't  strayed  off  an'  got  lost 
ner  nothin',  hev  ye  ?  " 

The  colonel  hesitated  a  moment,  considering 
whether  it  were  not  best  to  accept  this  as  an  ex 
planation  of  their  presence,  but  at  once  dismissed 
it  as  not  a  plausible  one. 


838  DANVIS    FOLKS. 

"  Why  no,  I  can't  say  we  're  lost,  for  our  friend 
Trask  here  seems  to  know  the  lay  of  the  land. 
But  I  'd  like  to  see  the  owner  of  this  lot.  There 's 
some  timber  on  it  I  'd  like  to  get.  This  yellow 
birch  is  just  what  I  want.  There  are  some  pretty 
good  trees  here.  That  tree  and  that,"  indicating 
with  his  forefinger  a  couple  of  shaggy  giants  that 
reared  their  rustling  manes  just  beside  him,  - 
44  don't  you  think  they  'd  do,  Professor  ?  " 

The  professor  ran  a  critical  eye  over  them  and 
nodded  a  dubious  affirmative. 

"  The'  's  slews  o'  yaller  birch  all  through  here, 
fer  two  mild,  jest  as  thick  as  't  is  on  this  lot," 
Sam  said. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  I  want  the  pick  of  it  all, 
and  I  'd  as  soon  begin  here  as  anywhere." 

"  I  don't  see  what  on  airth  anybody  wants  o' 
yaller  birch,"  said  Sam  ;  "  ef  't  was  cherry  birch 
for  furniter,  naow,  but  yaller  birch,  good  land, 
what  du  ye  want  o'  that?" 

44  Never  mind  what  I  want  of  it,"  said  the 
colonel,  with  the  air  of  one  impatient  of  question 
ing,  "  I  want  it.  I  've  been  informed  this  part  of 
the  mountain  belongs  to  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Lovel.  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

44  Yes,  I  know  him." 

44  Do  you  think  he  'd  be  likely  to  sell  it  ?  For 
a  reasonable  price,  of  course,  you  understand." 

44  Yes,  I  know  him.     He  '11  sell,"  Sain  said,  and 


LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS.  339 

then  continued  with  apparent  irrelevance,  as  he 
stirred  the  upturned  velvet-black  earth  with  his 
toe,  "  This  'ere  is  a  kinder  cur'ous  lookin'  sile  o' 
land.  Some  on  't  looks  as  'ough  it  hed  got  rusty 
a-lyin'  raoun'  useless  so  long.  Guess  like 's  not 
the'  's  iron  in  't." 

The  colonel  deigned  to  notice  it  with  a  side- 
wise  glance. 

"  Ah,  yes,  it  does  look  a  little  odd.  Trask  has 
been  digging  some  of  his  wonderful  roots  here. 
The  owner's  name  is  Lovel;  I  believe  I'll  call 
and  see  him." 

Sam  straightened  his  fox  upon  a  convenient 
log  preparatory  to  skinning  it,  seated  himself 
astride  it,  and  began  whetting  his  knife  on  his 
boot. 

"  You  need  n't  bother  tu.  He  's  right  here  all 
ready  fer  a  trade.  I  'm  him.  Naow,  haow  much 
be  you  goin'  tu  offer  ?  " 

"  You !  "  cried  the  colonel  quite  taken  by  sur 
prise  ;  and  then,  advancing  toward  him  with  his 
right  hand  cordially  outstretched,  "Why,  Mr. 
Lovel,  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you,  sir.  De-lighted. 
You  are  just  the  man  I  want  to  see,  and  meeting 
you  here  saves  lots  of  bother.  My  name 's 
Ketchum ;  they  call  me  Colonel  sometimes." 

Sam  stuck  his  knife  in  the  log,  and  not  with 
out  a  flattered  sense  of  receiving  distinguished 
consideration  took  the  proffered  hand  of  the 


840  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

most  celebrated  speculator  and  fast  man  of  the 
county. 

"  And  this  is  my  friend,  Professor  Stillman, 
and  Mr.  Trask.  You  may  have  met  Trask,  for 
he  's  a  hunter,"  the  colonel  said,  introducing  his 
companions.  "  That  was  a  capital  shot,  Mr. 
Lovel.  If  I  'd  made  it,  I  sh'd  be  proud  as  a  pea 
cock.  I  never  could  shoot  a  fox.  They  're  too 
smart  for  me.  Have  a  cigar,  Mr.  Lovel  ?  " 

Sam  was  nothing  loath  to  accept  the  proffered 
Havana,  already  recommended  by  the  fragrance 
of  its  predecessor  beyond  all  need  of  words.  The 
colonel  obligingly  lighted  a  new-fangled  match  in 
a  little  vial  of  liquid  and  held  it  for  him  till  the 
cigar  was  properly  fired.  He  had  never  tasted 
anything  with  so  delicious  a  flavor  before  ;  yet  it 
only  made  him  hungrier  for  his  more  satisfying 
pipe.  Having  his  own  cigar  well  lighted,  the 
colonel  took  it  from  his  lips  to  say,  while  he  re 
garded  Sam  with  a  shrewd  downward  glance, 
"  Now,  about  this  wood  lot,"  —  he  emphasized 
wood,  —  "what  are  you  going  to  ask  for  it? 
Cash  on  the  nail, the  minute  the  deed  is  signed?" 

"  What  '11  you  give?  "  Sam  asked,  feeling  the 
edge  of  his  knife  with  a  critical  touch. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  put  a  price  on  another 
man's  property,"  —  encouraging  his  cigar  with  a 
few  rapid  whiffs.  "  Name  your  pries  and  I  '11  tell 
you  whether  I  can  pay  it." 


LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS.  341 

Sam  nerved  himself  to  a  supreme  effrontery 
and  made  his  offer  in  a  voice  so  steady  he  won 
dered  if  it  was  his  own. 

"  Wai,  then,  I  '11  take  fifteen  hunderd  dollars 
f er  't ;  "  and  was  so  appalled  by  the  extravagance 
of  the  price  he  had  named  that  he  did  not  ven 
ture  to  look  up,  but  began  carefully  ripping  the 
hind  leg  of  the  fox. 

"  Wheeew,"  the  colonel  blew  out  a  mouthful  of 
smoke  in  a  long  whistle  of  surprise.  "  Fifteen 
hundred  dollars  !  Good  Lord,  man,  are  you  crazy  ? 
Why  that 's  more  than  a  thousand  acres  of  this 
mountain  land  would  bring.  You  're  joking,  Mr. 
Lovel.  Let 's  quit  this  fooling  and  talk  business." 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  Fifteen  hunderd  is 
my  price,"  Sam  said,  gathering  confidence  he 
knew  not  how. 

"  Oh,  well  then,  it 's  no  use  talking,"  the  colonel 
declared,  with  assumed  indifference  that  scarcely 
concealed  his  vexation.  "  I  don't  want  the  birch 
bad  enough  to  give  that,  or  half  of  that.  Some 
other  lot  will  do  as  well.  Come,  Professor,  we 
might  as  well  be  off.  Come,  Trask,  show  the 
way  out." 

Trask  shouldered  his  pick  and  spade  and  led 
the  way  with  long  strides,  followed  with  slower 
steps  by  his  companions,  who  presently  halted  and 
conferred  together  in  low  tones.  The  colonel 
returned  a  little  to  ask :  — 


342  DAN  VIS  FOLKS. 

"  You  really  mean  to  say  that  fifteen  hundred 
is  your  price  ?  " 

"  Sartainly,"  said  Sam,  stripping  a  leg  of  the 
fox. 

"  It 's  ridiculous.  Fifteen  hundred  dollars  for 
a  patch  of  mountain  land  only  worth  the  wood 
and  lumber  that 's  on  it." 

Sam  suddenly  faced  toward  him  :  "  Look  a  here, 
Colonel,  what 's  the  use  o'  yer  foolin'  ?  'T  ain't 
the  wood  you  want.  It 's  this  'ere  iron  ore."  He 
picked  up  a  handful  of  the  black  and  rusty  frag 
ments  and  held  them  out  in  his  open  palm.  "  I 
do'  know  what  it's  wuth,  mebby  four  times  what 
I  ask  fer  it,  but  you  c'n  hev  it  fer  that,  hit  er 
miss." 

It  had  seldom  befallen  Colonel  Ketchum's 
brazen  face  to  be  surprised  into  such  blank 
astonishment  as  now  overspread  it. 

"  Who  the  devil  told  you  there  was  ore  here  ?  " 
he  blurted  out. 

"  Oh,  I  Ve  known  it  fer  quite  a  spell,"  Sam 
said  with  a  coolness  that  was  amazing  to  himself, 
considering  he  had  known  it  but  half  an  hour. 

"  Well,  if  there  is,  it  may  not  be  worth  a 
thing." 

"  I  Ve  hearn  there  was  them  'at  'ould  pay  a 
fchaousan'  dollars  fer  't.  It's  consid'able  handy 
tu  the  forge.  I  guess  the  Comp'ny  'ould  give 
suthin'  fer 't." 


LUCK  OF  THE  WOODS.  343 

The  colonel  retired  to  confer  with  the  professor, 
then  came  back :  "  Well,  I  've  concluded  to  take 
the  chances  and  give  you  a  thousand."  Sam 
shook  his  head.  "  Well,  let 's  split  the  difference 
and  call  it  twelve  fifty." 

"  No,"  said  Sam,  completing  the  stripping  of 
the  fox  of  its  beauty  and  tossing  the  carcass  aside, 
"  I  guess  I  '11  give  the  Comp'ny  a  chance  fust." 

The  colonel  chewed  his  cigar,  forgetting  to 
nurse  its  languishing  fire,  and  after  some  moments 
of  silence  said,  "  Well,  I  'm  going  to  be  a  con 
founded  fool  and  give  you  your  price." 

"  I  p'sume  tu  say  I  'm  the  fool,"  said  Sam,  with 
a  nervous  laugh. 

"  Mr.  Level,"  the  other  said,  regarding  him 
with  growing  admiration,  "  I  'm  not  surprised 
that  you  take  in  the  foxes." 

"  I  can't  help  knockin'  'em  over  when  they 
blunder  right  ontu  me." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Lovel,  I  '11  pay  you  cash  down, 
when  we  get  the  papers  made  out,  to-morrow." 

"  All  right.  An'  naow  I  s'pose  we  might  as 
well  hyper  aout  o'  this,"  Sam  said,  carefully  shak 
ing  the  fur  of  the  fox-skin  into  comely  flufnness. 
"  Be  you  folks  goin'  my  way  ?  Come,  ol'  dawg." 

Drive  reluctantly  arose  from  the  bed  he  had 
made  in  the  leaves,  refreshed  himself  with  a  sniff 
of  the  fox-tail  dangling  from  his  master's  pocket, 
and  limped  with  gingerly,  foot-sore  steps  in  the  rear 


344  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

of  the  party,  as  it  took  its  way  down  the  rough 
descent.  The  colonel  discoursed  with  as  continual 
volubility  as  the  uncertain  footing  would  permit, 
and  seemed  in  excellent  spirits  for  a  man  who 
had  just  made  a  bad  bargain,  as  he  continually 
averred  he  had  done.  After  appointing  a  meet 
ing  at  Joel  Bartlett's  for  "  drawin'  writings  "  for 
the  next  morning,  Sam  parted  from  his  new  ac 
quaintances  where  their  ways  and  his  diverged, 
and  held  across  the  fields  homeward,  with  a  light 
heart. 

"  I  Ve  allus  faoun'  my  luck  in  the  woods," 
he  thought.  "  It  fetched  me  Huldy.  And  naow 
it 's  saved  me  a  hum  fer  her  an'  bub  an'  the  ol* 
folks." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

GOOD-NIGHT. 

As  with  swift  strides  that  seemed  too  slow  to 
carry  the  good  news  home  to  Huldah,  Sam  topped 
the  crest  of  a  pasture  knoll,  he  became  aware  of 
a  familiar  odor  of  rank  tobacco  too  late  to  avoid 
its  source,  for  in  the  next  moment  he  was  con 
fronted  by  Antoine,  making  a  short  cut  home 
ward  from  his  day's  chopping. 

"  Hill-o,  Sam,  dat  was  you,  don't  it.  Ah  '11 
most  s'pose  prob'ly  you  '11  ant  felt  fer  went 
huntin'.  Say,  Sam,  ant  he  too  bad  'baout  dat 
Bascoms  howe  up  evree  body  an'  run  hesef  away. 
Dat  was  too  shem.  Dey  say  dat  poor  hoi'  Buttle 
gal  mos'  crazyin'  hees  head  fer  loss  hees  two 
honded  dollar,  an'  de  Widder  Needham  mos'  as 
crazy  fer  glad  she  ant  marree  it,  an'  seh,  dey  was 
tol'  dey  was  costubble  you  all  up  an'  was  goin' 
fer  sol'  you  all  aout. 

"  But  it  was  mek  you  felt  good  yet  fer  git  dat 
fox,  ant  he  ?  You  was  look  pooty  good  nachel, 
hein?  Ah  tol'  you  Ah  was  felt  bad  fer  you, 
Sam,  an'  all  of  it.  What  all  we  goin'  do  if  One' 
Lasha  broke  off  hees  shaup,  fer  loafin'  place? 


346  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

Mees  Purimtim  say  he  '11  gat  fer  go  on  taown,  an* 
Aunt  Jerrushy.  Oh,  dat  was  too  shem.  Ah  tol' 
you,  Sam,  if  Ah  '11  can  fan  all  de  money  dat  hoi' 
feller  bury,  Ah  '11  len'  you  of  it  an'  set  you  all 
up." 

"  I  'm  'bleeged  tu  ye,  Antwine,"  Sam  answered 
at  the  first  opportunity  given  him.  "  I  should  n't 
wonder  ef  we  'd  continner  on  in  the  shop,  a  spell 
yit.  But  I've  got  tu  be  a-moggin',"  and  he 
pushed  on,  leaving  the  Canadian  staring  after  him, 
for  once  in  his  life  speechless,  till  he  ejaculated 
with  a  deep-drawn  sigh :  — 

"  Ah  b'lieved  he  was  so  troublesomed,  it  mek 
it  crazy  in  hees  head  of  it.  Dat  too  bad  fer 
heem."  At  length,  overwhelmed  by  a  sudden  sus 
picion,  he  exclaimed,  "  By  Tunder,  Ah  bet  he  fan 
dat  money  heself.  Dat  too  bad  fer  me." 

When  Sam  saw  his  own  house  light  shining 
through  the  early  autumnal  gloaming,  chimney 
and  roof  taking  form  against  the  hazy  sky  and 
nebulous  glimmer  of  relighted  stars,  and  traced 
tha  dusky  slopes  and  swells  of  meadow  and  pas 
ture,  they  had  never  seemed  so  dear  as  now,  with 
the  sense  of  reestablished  possession. 

Now  he  could  see  Huldah  appear  at  one  of  the 
kitchen  windows  whose  welcoming  light  he  had 
seen  on  the  hill;  he  knew  she  was  looking  out 
for  him  as  she  had  doubtless  done  for  countless 
times  since  the  shadows  began  to  blend  with  the 


GOOD-NIGHT.  347 

hazy  twilight,  and  the  crickets,  warmed  to  life  in 
the  soft  air,  chirped  faintly  in  farewell  concert. 

Huldah's  face,  sadly  sobered  of  late,  brightened 
at  the  sight  of  her  husband,  and  its  brightness 
was  mingled  with  surprise  when  she  noted  his 
unexpected  cheerfulness. 

"  Why,  Sam,  you  must  ha'  had  'stror'nary  luck 
a-huntin'  erless  you  faoun'  a  better  farm  'an  you 
expected  tu,  up  in  the  maountain." 

"  I  hev  hed  a  streak  o'  luck  in  the  woods  ag'in, 
Huldy,"  he  said  ;  and  when  he  had  hung  up  his 
gun  and  kissed  his  boy,  he  beckoned  her  to  the 
bedroom  and  told  her  the  whole  of  his  story. 

Aunt  Jerusha's  face,  sober  almost  to  sadness, 
yet  calm  with  the  peace  conquered  in  many  trials, 
met  his  in  questioning  surprise  and  caught  a  re 
flection  of  its  renewed  cheerfulness  as  he  passed 
her,  saying,  "  I  've  fetched  hum  good  news,  Aunt 
Jerushy,  an'  Huldy '11  tell  ye,"  and  going  into 
the  shop  he  imparted  it  to  his  father  and  Uncle 
Lisha. 

Before  the  evening  was  far  spent,  Joseph  Hill, 
Solon,  and  Pelatiah  came  in,  assuming  a  cheerful 
ness  of  speech  that  their  funereal  faces  belied. 

Influenced  by  Sam's  happy,  care-free  manner, 
the  old  comrades  drifted  into  the  familiar  channels 
of  discourse.  At  length,  unable  longer  to  restrain 
his  curiosity,  Solon  said  :  — 

"  Samule,  we  come  in  tu  express  aour  symptons, 


348  DANVIS  FOLKS. 

it  bein'  oixlerstood  quite  gineral  'at  you  had  got 
revolved  pecuniary  wi'  that  aire  Bascom  an'  liiin 
hevin'  absquatelated." 

"  We  've  felt  dreffly  'baout  it  up  tu  aour  haouse," 
Joseph  Hill  broke  in  with  his  deliberate  drawl. 
" 1  do'  know  's  I  ever  hearn  father  talk  so  much 
abaout  anythin'  'thaout  't  was  Ticonderogue,  an? 
I  tol'  M'ri'  'at  he  's  cussed  Bascom  'baout  as  bad  as 
ever  he  did  Tories,  seems  's  'ough,  but  I  d'  know." 

Solon  continued,  "  By  gineral  hints  since  we 
here  assembled,  I  've  gethered  you  've  been  reim- 
busted.  Be  we  so  tu  onderstan'  it,  an'  ef  so, 
wherefore  an'  whyfore  ?  " 

Sam  tilted  his  chair  backward,  stretched  his 
legs  straight  out  before  him,  clasped  his  hands  be 
hind  his  head,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  dingy 
ceiling, 

"  Mebby,"  he  said  after  a  considerable  pause, 
during  which  the  hum  of  the  women's  voices, 
Timothy's  careful  feeding  of  the  stove,  and  the 
clatter  of  the  baby's  playthings  could  be  heard  in 
the  kitchen,  "  Mebby  I  Ve  got  a  rich  uncle  'at 
you  never  hearn  on,  an'  mebby  I  've  busted  intu  a 
bank,  an'  mebby  I  've  faoun'  a  ore  bed  handy  to  the 
forge,  an'  mebby  I  've  diskivered  perpet'al  motion. 
Bimeby  you  '11  know,  but  take  my  word  f  er  't, 
things  is  all  right  an'  we  're  goin'  tu  keep  right  on 
>visitin*  in  this  shop.  But  the'  's  one  thing  we 
don't  wanter  fergit  the  fust  run  o'  sleddin'  'at 


GOOD-NIGHT.  349 

comes,  an'  that  is  tu  all  hands  turn  aout  an'  draw 
up  them  Buttles  gals  a  big  wood-pile.  They  've 
lost  all  the'  savin's  an'  hain't  got  no  rich  uncle. 
An'  naow  I  Ve  got  tu  git  that  boy  asleep." 

The  lives  of  the  Danvis  folks  resumed  their 
ordinary  tranquil  course.  For  me,  time  has 
touched  them  as  lightly  as  it  has  the  crowns  of 
their  own  mountains,  which  centuries  have  not 
changed. 

I  find  myself  forgetful  of  the  lapse  of  fifty 
years,  thinking  of  my  old  friends  as  yet  alive, 
preserving  the  quaintness  of  speech,  the  homely 
pastimes,  the  simplicity  of  dress  and  manners,  and 
above  all  the  neighborly  kindness  that  belonged 
to  their  day  and  generation  untouched  by  the 
strifes  and  ambitions  and  changes  of  the  busy 
world  that  chafes  and  beats  around  them,  and 
without  a  desire  for  a  part  therein. 

The  uneventful  day  is  spent.  The  shadows  of 
the  mountains  and  the  early  twilight  creep  across 
the  quiet  valley.  Out  of  the  dusk  and  deepen 
ing  gloom,  homestead  lights  shine  forth  like  stars 
in  a  nether  sky,  and  after  a  time  go  out,  one  by 
one. 

I  cannot  say  Farewell,  as  if  the  lights  of  my  old 
friends  were  extinguished  forever,  but  only, — 
Good-Night. 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA— BERKELEY 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or  on  the 

date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


flEB  7-*S5 

l6Maj'WKL 
REC'D  LD 

4UN  ;J 

JUN  17  1990 

LD  21-100m-l, '54(1887*16)476 


'     , ' 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


393782 

(O 

\    \_X3" 


UNIVERSITY  OP  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


